


The Muggles' Niece

by realismandromance



Series: Evanna Potter [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Drama, Female Harry, Gen, Hogwarts First Year, No Slash, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, POV Female Character, POV Multiple, POV Third Person Limited, Slytherin Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-07 10:02:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 43,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1894896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/realismandromance/pseuds/realismandromance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Lily Evanna Potter's first year at Hogwarts, and things are getting interesting. For starters, Evanna is Sorted into Slytherin while her cousin is a Gryffindor, there's a troll loose in the castle on Hallowe'en, somebody's possibly trying to kill her ... Yes, this will be one strange year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cat Potter

It was early on the morning of the second of November when Lily Evanna Potter first showed up at Number Four, Privet Drive. Petunia Dursley opened the front door, intending to put out the empty milk bottles for the milkman, but got as far as opening the door and glancing carelessly at the front step before she dropped the bottles with a shrill shriek.

There was a sleeping baby in a wickerwork basket on the step, clutching a letter in one chubby fist, a red, curiously-shaped scar on its forehead. When Petunia's startled scream reached its ears, the baby's eyes opened and looked unblinkingly up at Petunia, who recognised them with a thrill of foreboding.

They were green ... a green Petunia would never forget ...  _could_  never forget. How many times had she seen those eyes looking out at her from behind the dancing curtains of her sister Lily's red hair? She knew with a grim certainty that this was the child that Lily had sent a joyful letter to her older sister last year concerning. But what was her name? And what was she doing  _here_? Petunia quickly swept up the remains of the milk bottles before she brought the baby into the quiet house (somehow neither her husband, Vernon, nor their small son, Dudley, had been awakened by her scream just moments before), plucked the envelope from the child's grasp and slit it open, completely baffled as to what the contents might be. Was this some sick sort of joke? But Lily didn't play practical jokes.

The thin, slanted handwriting was not Lily's, yet it seemed distantly familiar.

> _Dear Mrs Dursley,_  
>  _I know this will come as a great shock to you, but ..._

Petunia remained frozen, her eyes slowly moving from left to right, reading the words marching like soldiers across the thick parchment. Lily had been  _murdered_ … along with her husband, James Potter … by the greatest Dark wizard of all time? Petunia didn't know much about the wizarding world, but she did know that there was an evil wizard known as Lord Voldemort who was currently at large. He, along with his followers (called 'Death Eaters'), was highly dangerous, and Lily had been so concerned for her sister's family's safety that she had persuaded some of her kind to put magical protections around Number Four, Privet Drive. And now Lily was dead, having been presumably lax in maintaining her own security.

But what was this – Petunia's eyes travelled further down the page hungrily. The person writing the letter was telling her that her  _niece_ , Lily Evanna Potter, a baby only just over a year old, had somehow managed to  _defeat_  this Lord Voldemort – her eyes roved over to the blonde, innocent-looking baby in the basket, who was watching her intently, and then found the lighting-bolt scar on the baby's small forehead, and was astonished.

But there was more. Her niece now had to stay with Petunia and her family, the reason being that there was no other family to go to. This – this  _person_  ... though Petunia had a pretty good idea who it was by now ... was telling her that baby Lily  _had_  to stay at Number Four, Privet Drive, there were absolutely no other options, because of some  _blood magic_ – Petunia winced at the words – that meant baby Lily had to stay with her until she turned seventeen, at least. Petunia felt her disbelief give way, and she found herself shaking – not just from shock, but from anger and indignation as well. The tall, narrow signature seemed to mock her status as a Muggle as it read, in (it seemed to Petunia) cool, insolent letters:

 

> _With best wishes for the future and for your family,_  
>  _Albus Dumbledore_  
>  _Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards, and current Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

The pompous title seemed to her a direct poke at her Muggleness. As if she would know what half the titles meant anyway. (The only one she understood was the last, and it was the unkindest cut of all – a painful reminder of a letter she'd written long ago, and the horribly condescending reply she had received in return ...) How dare he? How  _dare_  he just deposit a baby, a  _baby_ , albeit her niece, on the front step like she was just another burden Lily unwittingly inflicted on her older, plainer, Muggle sister? No ... she mustn't believe that ... she had never  _really_  believed that ... it had simply been a product of the jealous upfront she had built to hide her secret desire to be a witch too.

This was just ...  _wrong_. Who knew how long baby Lily had been left alone on that front step? Why couldn't they have at least rung the doorbell like normal people? Vernon might not have taken kindly to being awakened in the middle of the night, or Dudley either, but she ...  _she_ would have understood.

> _I hope, perhaps, that when your niece is old enough to understand, you will inform her of her true heritage, and tell her of her unique position straddling the wizarding world and your own._

How was that possible? How could she, Petunia Dursley, explain everything to her niece, a child that she had never seen before in real life, didn't know anything about? Just like it wasn't possible to explain  _everything_  in a letter, the way Dumbledore seemed to think. How could she tell young Lily that she belonged to a world from which the rest of her family would be forever barred, a world in which her parents had lost their lives?

But she would try. She, Petunia Dursley, would make it up to the sister she had shunned ever since the latter had received a letter addressed in green ink, by taking care of Lily's child. Petunia had always wanted a daughter, and now she had one. If only the wish had not come at such a great price!

* * *

_Eight years later_

Lily Evanna Potter was now nine years old. She was, however, never called Lily; no, Petunia had decided that it was too painful to call this emerald-eyed damsel by her mother's name, and hence everybody referred to her by her middle name, Evanna, instead. She was a pretty child, with her aunt's blonde hair, her mother's brilliant green eyes and her father's penchant for trouble, in addition to a knack for getting herself in and out of impossible circumstances with unfeigned ease.

The first had happened the year before, at school. She had been on the swing set in the school playground, going higher and higher with every swing, and it would have been a perfectly ordinary afternoon if Evanna had not felt the urge to let go at the very height of her swing and go sailing over the heads of the other children to land safely near the large front doors of the school. After that Evanna had gained another name, Cat, because as Clarice Parker, the most popular girl in Evanna's class stated, she always had a knack of landing on her feet ... just like a cat. She hadn't even gotten a detention for it, as nobody had been able figure out how she'd done it. Aunt Petunia had given her an odd look when the topic cropped up on the way home from school (care of Dudley), but Evanna had put it down to simple puzzlement.

The next instance had occurred only a few weeks later. Evanna (now referred to almost exclusively as 'Cat' at school) had been sitting alone on one of the benches in the schoolyard, eating her lunch when Clarice Parker and a bunch of her friends came over, laughing and jostling Evanna off the bench so that she was sprawled on the rough ground. The next moment, the bench was upturned and Clarice and the others were lying in a messy heap beside it. Evanna hadn't moved, but Clarice (and the others along with her) avowed that she had pushed the bench over on purpose. One of the girls sprained her ankle and another came off with a broken wrist, and Evanna would have been suspended if Aunt Petunia hadn't intervened. In no time at all, there were rumours all around the school that that weird kid, Cat Potter, had actually  _attacked_  five other girls and had practically been  _expelled_ , and  _would_  have been if her aunt hadn't stuck up for her. Clarice Parker, especially, seemed to harbour a heavy dislike towards the class loner and wasted no time in saying that there was something really off about that Cat Potter. She didn't have any friends, and didn't seem to  _want_  them, either, and weird things always happened when she was around. Before long, nobody at school save the teachers and Dudley would talk to Evanna at all.

Surprisingly, Evanna didn't seem to mind all the enmity directed towards her, though she was by no means ignorant of it. She never let what anyone said about her bother her ... no, that was just another way they could have power over her. If she ignored all the harsh, brutal things they said, they would likely grow tired of their silly game and find another outsider to taunt.

Aunt Petunia, however, unnoticed by her usually observant niece, was worried. She wasn't very involved in Evanna's school life as a rule; the first and only time she'd intervened had been over the incident with the school bench. Though Petunia would never has admitted it to anyone, that incident had scared her deeply. She knew Evanna too well to even dare to presume that her niece would intentionally hurt five girls, so there was only one explanation. Lily Evanna Potter was a witch.

Quickly, Petunia thought back to her own childhood, and that of Lily's. Lily had always been a cheerful, bubbly child, who changed everybody who met her. In Evanna, however, Petunia couldn't see a shade of her sister's personality. Lily had been bright and joyous; Evanna was quiet and rarely spoke or volunteered information without being asked to. Lily had had a quick, fiery temper; Evanna had never been known to lose visible control of her emotions, except for the time when she had come home from school, walked straight through the house and up to her bedroom without talking to Petunia (who was the only one home at that point), and appeared calm and collected – that is, until she reached the safety of a closed door. Then she threw herself onto her bed and dissolved into a fit of stormy weeping.

Petunia, naturally, had been greatly disturbed by this sudden torrent of emotions; getting up from the kitchen chair at which she had been sitting on, she hurried up the stairs and knocked on Evanna's bedroom door.

'Are you all right, Evanna?' she called hesitantly, one hand resting on the doorknob.

After a moment, a shaky voice replied, in an entirely unconvincing tone, 'I'm fine, thank you, Aunt Petunia.'

 _Liar._  It didn't take a genius to guess that something was seriously wrong. Petunia opened the door and took in the sight of the normally neat girl lying facedown on top of the covers, and moved over to sit on the edge of the bed.

'Evanna, tell me what's wrong.'

No answer.

'Evanna ...' There was a warning tone in Petunia's voice that not even Evanna, in her distraught state, could miss.

Silence. Then –

The girl lifted her head from the pillow and turned to look at Petunia, her bottle-green eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and hurt. 'They called me a freak.'


	2. A Letter and a Snake

Petunia felt something grab hold of her stomach and twist it tight.  _Oh, no,_  her brain seemed to chant over and over.  _Not this!_  She tried to remain calm. 'Who called you a freak?'

'C-Clarice Parker and some of the others,' Evanna faltered, looking positively frightened at the look on Petunia's face. Petunia quickly forced her face into a mirror of sympathy and indignation.

'Why would they call you a freak?' Petunia said softly, ignoring the flashbacks the simple word gave her. Another time … another place … yet both Lily and Evanna had suffered the same fate, condemned because of something they had no control over. Only, in Lily's case, she had found solace in another person, a boy who told her who she was and that she wasn't a freak – just special. Evanna had no such comfort-bringer … except Petunia.

The answer Petunia had been dreading came. 'I do strange things nobody else can explain … scary things. And everybody calls me Cat … because …'

'Because why?' Petunia pressed gently.

'Because … you know what Dudley told you about the swing? I can do that … any time I want to … and I always land on my feet, like a cat.'

Petunia felt a mad urge to both laugh and cry. There was a spark of Lily in Evanna's personality after all! Lily was strong, but she had broken down when being called a freak by her own sister was too much for her. It would have been too much for anybody.

'But  _why_  can I do these things, Aunt Petunia? I don't mind being different … I  _like_  it … but why  _me_ , and not them?'

The words came out before Petunia could stop them. 'Because you're a witch.'

The girl was very still for a few moments, staring at Petunia with wide eyes. Then she said softly, 'You mean it?'

Petunia was surprised. She had expected the girl to laugh, or even accuse her of lying, but this caught her off guard. 'Yes, I mean it,' she said quickly. 'You are a witch. Your mother was one too –' and there was the usual flash of emotion that came with the mention of her sister's talents. She pulled herself together. 'Yes, you are,' she repeated. 'Did you ever think that there's something different about you? Did you realise that all the strange things you do are impossible to perform – that is, without magic?' Petunia looked straight into the girl's almond-shaped eyes. 'It's because you're different –  _special_.'

* * *

_Two years later_

Dudley's letter came first.

Evanna remembered the day quite clearly – the Saturday before Dudley's eleventh birthday. In all her life she had never seen Aunt Petunia so distressed or Uncle Vernon so serious.

Dudley collected the post off the doormat and walked back into the dining room slowly, flipping through the envelopes. Evanna watched out of the corner of her eye, and hence was the only one to notice that he stopped at a heavy-looking envelope as if he could hardly believe his eyes. He passed the bills and the rest of the envelopes to his father and sat down next to Evanna, still looking at the envelope. Glancing over his shoulder surreptitiously, Evanna saw that the letter was addressed to, in green ink:

> _Mr D. Dursley  
>  The Second Bedroom  
>  4 Privet Drive  
>  Little Whinging  
>  _ _Surrey_

Dudley turned the letter over slowly. It was sealed with a big purple seal that had a lion in the top left corner, a snake in the top right, a badger in the bottom left corner and an eagle in the bottom right, all surrounding the letter 'H'.

Dudley slit the envelope open, unnoticed to all but Evanna, pulled out a few sheets of thick paper and read through them slowly … disbelievingly, Evanna thought. Then he looked up.

'Mum,' he said, eyeing Aunt Petunia, who was busy spreading butter on her toast, 'what's' – he glanced down at the letter in his hands – 'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?'

The silence was deafening. Uncle Vernon looked up from his tea, a frown on his face, but Aunt Petunia froze, her buttery knife suspended in mid-air, and looked first at Evanna (who shook her head very slightly), and then settled on Dudley, the mysterious letter clutched in his hands.

'What was that, Dudley, dear?' she said faintly.

'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,' Dudley repeated calmly, looking up at his mother's petrified face. 'It  _is_  a joke, isn't it?'

His mother seemed temporarily unable to speak. Wordlessly, she held out her hand. Dudley gave her the letter and she read through it twice, her eyes getting bigger and bigger.

'What is it, Petunia?' Uncle Vernon asked his wife. He wasn't good with emotions but even  _he_  could tell there was something off about her behaviour.

Evanna's heart was racing wildly.  _Dudley_  had a letter from the school … her parents' school …  _her_  school that Aunt Petunia had told her about? Did that mean he was a wizard, too? But why was Aunt Petunia so shaken? Hadn't her own sister, Evanna's mum, been a witch when the rest of her family were Muggles (non-magical people)?

Uncle Vernon was looking very confused. Abruptly, Aunt Petunia pushed her chair back and beckoned for her husband to follow her into the kitchen, ignoring the hand Dudley was reaching out so that she could give him his letter back. Once the kitchen door was closed behind them, Dudley and Evanna looked at each other.

'What did the letter say?' Evanna asked finally.

'It said … that I've been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,' Dudley answered in a puzzled tone. 'It looked pretty well done for a joke letter, too – there was even a book list and a note saying that I wouldn't be allowed to bring a broomstick to school.' He chuckled under his breath. 'But I don't get what Mum's so worked up about when it's obviously just a silly joke.'

'Why do you think it's a joke?' Evanna asked curiously.

Her cousin rolled his eyes. 'It's obvious that magic doesn't exist,' he said dismissively. 'I mean, surely we would have  _noticed_.'

 _Bit rich coming from you_ , Evanna thought dryly. But she didn't answer. She moved over to the kitchen door and busied herself with eavesdropping through the keyhole.

' … don't see why he can't go, Vernon. You've always said that if they have a talent, or something they really like doing, they should make good use of it, shouldn't they? Well, Dudley's talent is magic, and to make good use of it, he needs to go to Hogwarts.'

There was a brief silence. 'Petunia, you know I care for both of their welfares very deeply,' said Uncle Vernon heavily. 'But are you sure he'll be all right? After all, wasn't your sister killed by some wizard maniac that tried to kill Evanna too? We made a promise to protect them, Petunia, but I don't see how we can keep it if they're sent to a boarding school in – Scotland, did you say? – for ten months every year – Evanna especially.'

'But Dudley will have to be told,' Aunt Petunia pressed on. 'He'll find out himself sooner or later – Evanna already knows the truth about  _her_ self – and frankly I'd rather him find out from us than anyone else. I never thought he'd be one too, never considered it, but that doesn't matter now. Lily always said there was no better wizarding school than Hogwarts, and Dudley will look out for Evanna. He's very big-brotherly – have you noticed? It will be an excellent experience for both of them.'

'I suppose you're right,' said Uncle Vernon slowly. 'Dudley's a good boy. Let's go back in there and tell them – I just hope they'll understand.'

Evanna glanced down at Dudley, who was crouched on the floor, the better to listen under the door. As they regained their seats, all Evanna could think was,  _So I won't be going to Hogwarts alone after all._

* * *

'Hey, Cat, hurry up, will you,' Dudley called cheerfully at his cousin's closed bedroom door, on the morning of the twenty-third of June. It was Dudley's birthday, and for a treat, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were taking him, Evanna and Dudley's best friend from school, Piers Polkiss, to the local zoo for the day. It was only a week after Dudley's letter from Hogwarts came and revealed he was a wizard, and he was still coming to terms with the fact. A representative from Hogwarts was supposed to come sometime before September to take him to the wizarding world to show him around and get all his school supplies, but they hadn't come yet.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia never took Evanna out for her birthday – but that wasn't for lack of offering. Evanna always politely refused when Aunt Petunia asked her, as she asked both of them every year if they wanted to do something fun for their birthdays. Aunt Petunia's idea of 'fun' meant taking them and a friend out for the day, such as to the amusement park or the circus. It was there that the problem lay, for Evanna had no friends, and she would rather die than let Aunt Petunia find out. She didn't want her aunt to get involved at school … again.

Evanna groaned softly, and, with a heroic effort, pulled herself out of bed and reached for her clothes. 'Didn't I tell you not to call me that?' she yelled half-heartedly at the unseen Dudley. She heavily disliked the nickname Cat, and yet somehow Dudley was the only person who could call her that and get away with it … most of the time, anyway.

An hour later, Uncle Vernon was driving to the local zoo, with Aunt Petunia in the passenger seat and Evanna, Dudley and Piers slightly squashed in the back.

The first half of the day went very well. They visited the aviary and several other places before stopping at the zoo's café for lunch.

'What do you want to see next?' Aunt Petunia asked Dudley, who, along with Piers and Uncle Vernon, was devouring a large knickerbocker glory for dessert. Evanna herself had a strawberry hot fudge sundae, and Aunt Petunia had a banana split.

'Dunno,' mumbled Dudley, his mouth full of cream and chopped nuts. Evanna elbowed him, partly because she was disgusted by the way he talked and partly to get his attention.

'Hey, Dud, we haven't been to the reptile house yet.' Evanna licked the sticky syrup off her spoon and waved it in the general direction of one of the zoo sections, aptly labelled  _Reptile House_.

Dudley looked up, saw what she was gesturing to, and grinned appreciatively. 'Nice one,  _Cat_.'

For that, Evanna smacked him on the back of his head and he nearly swallowed his cherry whole, causing both Evanna and Piers to howl with laughter ('You got one over him there, Cat!'), Aunt Petunia to frown disapprovingly at Evanna, and Uncle Vernon to reach over and slap Dudley on the back – hard – until he stopped coughing and choking long enough to glare at Evanna, who grinned back, not at all worried by her cousin's animosity. Dudley never did stay annoyed at her for long – he was too good-natured.

They  _did_  go to the reptile house, however, though whether it was because they were used to the attention or simply bored, the reptiles seemed rather slow and dozy. Dudley even rapped on the glass on one boa constrictor's case before moving on, tired and impatient.

Evanna paused for a second beside the boa constrictor's case. It seemed to be sleeping, but at Evanna's timid 'hello' (she didn't know why she said it; she didn't usually talk to animals), it began to move around. Then it caught sight of Evanna, raised its head slowly to face her, and hissed softly, 'Hello to you too.'

It was a mark of how startled Evanna was that she almost jumped, then looked around her to make sure nobody else saw or heard. Not knowing that she was a witch, they might think she was mad, or  _they_  were mad … or both.

'Do you get people coming to talk to you much?' Evanna asked politely, eying the snake. It was easily the largest of any of the snakes there, and she thought that position would hold a bit more notoriety than any of the other snakes'. She wondered idly whether most witches and wizards could talk to snakes, and whether it was a matter of the snake understanding English, or  _herself_  understanding snake language.

'Other people have talked  _to_  me, yes, but nobody who understood my language the way you do,' the snake answered. 'One tends to get lonely and listless after a while.' It let out a melancholy sigh, a sound that Evanna would never have believed could come from a  _snake_.

Evanna quickly glanced about her again, saw that the others were up ahead, looking at some sleepy-headed crocodiles, and turned back to the glass case. 'I know what you mean,' she said quickly, concentrating on the snake's beady eyes. 'I'm a witch, but nobody knows it except Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon and Dudley. Everybody makes fun of me at school, but I just tell myself that it's because I'm special.'

'Because most things really aren't worth getting upset over?' the snake said slyly.

Evanna nodded. 'I … I've got to go. See you sometime … maybe.' With that, she hurried after Dudley and the rest, who hadn't even noticed her brief absence.

But she herself hadn't missed the wide eyes and slightly parted lips of another girl who had been standing nearby, watching her. Nor did she miss the curious, astonished look the strange girl gave her as Evanna hurried away.


	3. One Wild Bus Ride

The letter was addressed to  _Miss L. Potter, The Front Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey_.

The contents ran thus:

> _HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_
> 
> _Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore  
>  _ _(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_
> 
> _Dear Miss Potter,_
> 
> _We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._
> 
> _Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl no later than 31 July._
> 
> _Yours sincerely,_  
>  _Minerva McGonagall  
>  _ _Deputy Headmistress_

Evanna flipped through the pages of the letter and found another sheet of parchment, exactly like Dudley's.

> _HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_
> 
> Uniform  
>  _First-year students will require:  
>  __Three sets of plain work robes (black)  
>  __One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear  
>  __One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)  
>  __One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)_
> 
> _Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags_
> 
> Course Books  
>  _All students should have a copy of each of the following:  
>  _ The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) _by Miranda Goshawk  
>  _ A History of Magic _by Bathilda Bagshot  
>  _ Magical Theory _by Adalbert Waffling  
>  _ A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration _by Emeric Switch  
>  _ One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi _by Phyllida Spore  
>  _ Magical Drafts and Potions _by Arsenius Jigger  
>  _ Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them _by Newt Scamander  
>  _ The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection _by Quentin Trimble_
> 
> Other Equipment  
>  _1 wand  
>  __1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)  
>  __1 set glass or crystal phials  
>  __1 telescope  
>  __1 set brass scales  
>  __Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad_
> 
> _PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST-YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS_

Evanna let out a low whistle. A wand … that would probably be really useful.  _Hang_  on … She went back to the first page and read it through again, frowning slightly.

'Anything the matter, dear?' Aunt Petunia asked, catching sight of her niece's expression.

' No … well, yes, actually,' Evanna said quickly. 'What does it mean, they await my owl?' She hadn't seen that part in Dudley's letter, either.

Aunt Petunia smiled. 'Wizards have rather different ways of sending letters to us,' she answered. 'Instead of ordinary post, they tie the letter to an owl's leg and send it on its way. I expect you're supposed to RSVP them to tell them you're coming.'

'Which reminds me, Mum,' interjected Dudley. 'When's this person from Hogwarts coming to take me to London and get my school stuff?'

'Well, she – Professor McGonagall – was  _supposed_  to be take you last week, but she sent an owl ahead to say that there are a lot of Muggle-born children entering Hogwarts this year, so she's had to postpone the trip until Saturday.'

'That's one thing I don't get about wizards,' Uncle Vernon said dryly. 'You'd think, with all the magic they can do,  _somebody_  would have invented a machine so that people can be in two places at once.'

'Aunt Petunia,' said Evanna suddenly, 'do you think I could go along to the wizarding world with Dudley? Only I'll need to get my books and supplies as well.'

Her aunt looked at her in bewilderment. 'But it won't be just Dudley going, Evanna,' she said. 'Didn't we tell you? All four of us are going to Diagon Alley.'

* * *

Saturday started off  _oddly_ , that was all Evanna could call it. Everybody was on tenterhooks during breakfast, as Professor McGonagall was supposed to show up, but they didn't know  _when_  she was going to come. Aunt Petunia kept glancing nervously at the front door, and Dudley wandered from room to room, clutching his booklist and asking Evanna  _how_  she could be so composed at a time like this (she was lying on her bed reading  _The Magician's Nephew_  like it was just any Saturday morning and not the morning they were going to visit a world Uncle Vernon and Dudley had never seen and Evanna couldn't remember).

'It's just the way I am,' Evanna defended herself indignantly. 'It's not my fault that some people are so excited they can't keep their food down.'

Dudley flushed. It  _was_  true that he hadn't been able to eat a thing at breakfast (a first-time occurence), though admittedly he hadn't been throwing up. But he didn't have time to think up a suitably witty retort (Evanna was much better at that than he was), because right then the doorbell rang. Dudley promptly turned wax-white and looked as though he was about to pass out.

'Relax,' Evanna told him coolly, laying her book facedown, pages spread on her pillow – something she had always been told never to do – and hopped off her bed. 'Come on, Dud, let's go see Professor Regurgitate.' She danced past her cousin, out onto the landing and down the stairs.

'Professor McGonagall,' Dudley muttered, following her and feeling insulted. He hadn't missed her slur on his behaviour.

'Good morning,' said a tall, thin woman who was wearing long green robes and whose greying hair was pulled into a mercilessly tight bun at the back of her head. She wore a pair of old-fashioned wire spectacles and had the undeniable air of – to Evanna anyway – the kind of person who didn't tolerate nonsense and fooling around. This was obviously the awaited and highly anticipated Professor McGonagall.

'Good morning,' Evanna echoed politely, watching the witch's reactions carefully. Dudley had caught up with Evanna now and was very pale as he eyed Professor McGonagall.

'Well, Mr Dursley and Miss Potter,' Professor McGonagall said to Dudley and Evanna, 'if you are ready, I shall take you to Diagon Alley to get your school supplies.' She flashed a faint smile at Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. 'You are more than welcome to come, of course.'

'I should hope so,' Aunt Petunia said, a little too sharply. Evanna winced.

Before Evanna knew it, they were all standing at the kerb in front of Number Four, Privet Drive. Dudley looked as though he was on the verge of asking Professor McGonagall how they were going to get to this 'Diagon Alley', but he kept silent.

Then Professor McGonagall thrust out her right hand. There was an unnaturally loud BANG and Dudley nearly fell over as an enormous purple bus came screaming out of nowhere, looking too big and outrageous to be  _allowed_  (it was three levels high). It stopped right in front of them and one of the doors right near the driver opened. A very thin girl in her late teens, with straggly black hair and almost feline characteristics stepped out and began speaking to the little group.

'Hi, hop aboard the Knight Bus,' she said easily, standing aside to let them all on. 'Emergency transport for any stranded witch or wizard; for the rate of eleven Sickles per passenger, we can take you to wherever you want to go. My name is Joelle Meadowes, and I will be your conductor today.'

'Eleven Sickles, did you say?' said Uncle Vernon under his breath as he took out his wallet, obviously not realising that it held only Muggle money, but before he could even open it, Professor McGongall had handed three large gold coins and four smaller silver coins to Joelle Meadowes, who took them, saying cheerfully, 'Where are you headed, then?'

'The Leaky Cauldron,' Professor McGonagall said with dignity and then, to Evanna's great surprise, said, 'Fancy seeing you so soon, Miss Meadowes.'

'Right, off we go then, Ernie,' said Joelle, and then the bus let out another almighty BANG and hurtled forwards at breakneck speed, throwing Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, Dudley, Evanna and about a dozen other passengers hard into the backs of their seats. Professor McGonagall, however, remained unfailingly composed as the bus careened from side to side wildly, and Joelle Meadowes actually managed to stay upright, only clinging onto one of the straps hanging from the ceiling for support.

Turning to Professor McGonagall, she said delightedly, almost yelling over the deafening rattles and clatterings from the bus, 'I know, right? I wasn't sure what I wanted to do after seventh year – I mean, a job in the Ministry would be nice but I didn't have the right marks. Tonks is training to be an Auror, though, did you hear?'

'Yes, Miss Tonks was always very good at Transfiguration – even when you take into account what she is – but I don't know how she'll pass the Stealth and Tracking tests. That girl was always very clumsy, especially when she was younger.'

'Tonks'll always be like that, I expect,' said Joelle, grinning. 'Aunt Emma wanted me to go into the Ministry, too, but even if I did have the marks, it's just not my mug of Butterbeer. Aunt Emma suggested I get some sort of job while I look around, so I got this one. How have you been doing, then?'

'Very well, thank you,' said Professor McGonagall, but in a warm tone that gave Evanna the impression that Joelle Meadowes had been one of her favourite students, if that was possible. 'There are a lot of Muggle-born students starting this year, so I've been very busy.'

'And you're doing that right now, aren't you?' Joelle said knowingly, peering at the four of them, who were clutching onto their seats for dear life. 'Muggles, ain't'cha? And …' Her ice-blue eyes flitted from Uncle Vernon to Aunt Petunia to Dudley and rested on Evanna, and then widened as they found on the lightning-shaped scar on Evanna's forehead.

'Cor!' she breathed, her eyes never leaving Evanna. 'You're – you're Lily Potter!'

* * *

It took a while for things to calm down. Joelle's near-shriek had alerted almost all the passengers on the ground floor and a good deal of the passengers on the first and second floors and in no time at all, there were people clamouring all around Evanna, all trying to touch her or say hello or shake her hand. Dudley was looking very confused, and Uncle Vernon looked like he was on the point of telling everybody to get stuffed and stop harassing his niece, but Aunt Petunia stopped him, biting her lip nervously. She didn't like not knowing what was going on, Evanna had noticed.

Evanna herself was rather put-off by all the people jostling for her attention. It was obvious now that she was famous, but  _why_? What had she done? She'd lived away from wizarding world ever since she was one, and she hadn't done anything particularly spectacular as a baby …  _had_  she?

'All right, everybody, bugger off,' Joelle said good-naturedly, seeing Evanna's discomfort. 'We're at the Leaky Cauldron now, Professor,' she added to Professor McGonagall.

After the small group had finally gotten off (which took some time, considering the immense public interest in one Lily Evanna Potter), Professor McGonagall led them all inside the Leaky Cauldron, which turned out to be a crowded wizarding pub. Before they entered, Professor McGonagall turned to Evanna. 'If you do not wish everybody to recognise you on sight, I strongly recommend you you keep your scar covered.' Thankful that she didn't blush easily, Evanna moved her fringe to hide her scar. She wanted to ask why she seemed to be famous in the wizarding world, but sensed that now was not the time.

Professor McGonagall ushered them through the pub to a tiny brick-walled room at the very back, where she took out her wand and tapped third brick on the left. To everybody's astonishment except Aunt Petunia's (and, of course, Professor McGonagall's), the bricks in the wall began sliding and shifting out of place, folding and slotting away until they revealed a large doorway. There was a very  _magical_  street beyond it, stuffed with shops and stalls and witches and wizards. There was a place that looked like it sold live rats and another that dealt in second-hand robes. Professor McGonagall was surveying the scene, a slight smile playing at the corners of her thin lips. Uncle Vernon was awestruck and Aunt Petunia was wiping a tear out of her eye, but Dudley was grinning so widely that his smile seemed to reach right to his ears.

'This is awesome,' he said sincerely.

Evanna couldn't help but agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference credit: _The Magician's Nephew_ by C. S. Lewis


	4. Shopping in Wizarding London

Diagon Alley  _had_  been as awesome as Dudley had anticipated, Evanna reflected afterwards.

They started the trip by going to Gringotts to convert some pounds and pence into the much more complicated Galleons, Sickles and Knuts. Then Professor McGonagall produced a large golden key which turned out to be the key to Evanna's own Gringotts vault. It was only after Evanna had extracted enough money to pay for her school things as well as sustain her over the school year that she remembered something.

'Professor McGonagall,' she asked innocently, 'why did  _you_  have my Gringotts key?'

Professor McGonagall looked startled. 'Professor Dumbledore took custody of it after your parents died,' she answered stiffly, as if wondering  _why_  Evanna dared to ask such a question.

'But Vernon and I should have been given the key,' Aunt Petunia protested. 'After all, we are Evanna's legal guardians.'

'Perhaps you should take up your concerns with Professor Dumbledore,' Professor McGonagall would only say, dismissively.

Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions … Slug and Jiggers Apothecary … Potage's Cauldron Shop … Flourish and Blotts … Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment … Scribbulus Writing Instruments (though neither Evanna nor Dudley could understand why they couldn't just bring ballpoint pens to Hogwarts) … the list went on and on. Evanna felt that they must have visited half the Alley, at least, by the time they went back to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch.

'What else do we need to buy, you two?' Uncle Vernon said cheerfully, taking a large drink of his pumpkin juice, which he seemed to like.

Dudley answered first. 'Just a wand' – and he scanned his shopping list, then looked up. 'Mum, Dad, can I have an owl?'

' _May_  I have an owl,' Aunt Petunia corrected absently, then did a double take. 'Did you just say …'

' _May_  I have an owl, then,' Dudley amended quickly, oblivious to the rest of his family's surprise. He had never shown an interest in animals,  _ever_  – and now, out of the blue, he was asking for an owl!

'Well, if your father says yes …' Aunt Petunia said vaguely, obviously deciding not to comment. Dudley looked at Uncle Vernon hopefully, who nodded.

'Thanks,' Dudley said, with feeling. 'I heard they're really useful for sending post and stuff.'

Evanna grinned understandingly. That made sense. Dudley was extremely practical and was probably only getting the bird for its useful features. That was so typical of her cousin.

'What about you, Evanna?' Uncle Vernon asked her. 'Fancy a pet too?'

Evanna shrugged. What she wanted was an animal that could talk  _back_  – i.e. a snake … but it wasn't likely that the Magical Menagerie across the street would sell them. So she opted for second-best. 'A cat would be nice,' she said truthfully.

They decided, for the sake of convenience, to get the wands before they visited Eeylops Owl Emporium and the Magical Menagerie. Professor McGonagall led them to a dark, tiny little shop that said over the door, in letters that were so old they were peeling away from the sign:  _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C._  It struck Evanna as the way a very old antique shop, op shop or two-dollar shop might have looked: small, very dusty, stuffed with merchandise and with the undeniable air of eccentricity.

There were three customers inside: a thin, dark, haggard woman dressed in black, and two girls – a vivid, brown-haired beauty of about Evanna's age, and another a few years younger, with large eyes, untidy golden curls and a pale complexion. They seemed to be in the process of leaving – the woman had taken out a moneybag and was picking out silver and bronze coins with the help of the younger girl. The older girl was clutching a long, narrow box which presumably held her wand: she had a bored, indifferent look on her face that gave Evanna the impression that she was a bit of a snob. But then the woman finished paying Mr Ollivander, and she and the two girls – obviously her daughters – left the shop, without so much as a glance at the group clustered near the door.

Mr Ollivander, a small, white-haired, wizened old man with large, glassy round eyes and a gleeful expression on his face, hurried towards them.

'Minerva McGonagall! And what young hopefuls are you bringing with you today?'

'Good afternoon, Mr Ollivander. I've got two who need wands today – Lily Potter and her cousin, Dudley Dursley,' Professor McGonagall said evenly.

Evanna winced at the use of her first name. It wasn't that she disliked it, just that it had of course been her mother's name, and it gave her a little ache every time it was used. Besides, she preferred the name Evanna.

Mr Ollivander turned to Evanna delightedly, ignoring Dudley and the others completely. 'I've been expecting you,' he said tremulously. 'You have your mother's eyes. It wasn't really that long ago that she –'

'Yes, yes,' interrupted Professor McGonagall impatiently. 'If you don't mind, could we get on to business?'

'Yes … of course,' Mr Ollivander murmured, snapping out of his wistful reverie and looking slightly disappointed. After measuring Evanna very precisely in more than a few ways, he crossed the tiny shop and opened a long box exactly like the one Evanna had seen the brown-haired girl carry out. He pulled out a dark, elegant wand and handed it to Evanna, who took it with some trepidation.

'Blackthorn, twelve inches, dragon heartstring core, fairly stiff,' Mr Ollivander commented. 'Give it a wave, Miss Potter.'

Feeling very stupid, like she was playing at soldiers in front of a full-blown army, Evanna took the wand and (because somehow it seemed the right thing to do) flicked it at nothing in particular. But nothing happened, and she felt a definite sense of anticlimax as Mr Ollivander whipped the blackthorn wand out of her hand and pressed another into it.

Fortunately for Evanna, she only had to try a handful of wands before Mr Ollivander – with a mysterious gleam in his eyes – was satisfied. She'd managed to make send out a steam of silver and gold sparks, purely by accident, but the white-haired wandmaker was intrigued.

'Curious … very curious …' he murmured cryptically, and Evanna had to ask him what he meant. He then launched into a long-winded explanation of how her wand and the wand of the wizard who killed her parents (Lord Voldemort – only Mr Ollivander called him He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named instead) shared the same core – a phoenix feather (!) from the same phoenix. That apparently was something significant, but Mr Ollivander only finished by adding, 'The wand chooses the wizard, Miss Potter, and it is not always clear why. But He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things … terrible, yes, but great.' Evanna was feeling distinctly uncomfortable by now, and was very glad when Uncle Vernon interrupted.

'If you're quite finished scaring my niece –' he began hotly, but Mr Ollivander paid no attention to him whatsoever. He put the wand (holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, reasonably springy) back in its box for Evanna to carry, along with the final comment: 'It appears that your magic is fairly easy to please, Miss Potter. You will not have much trouble using any wand you choose but this one seems to be particularly attached to you.' Then, to everyone's relief, he moved on to Dudley and pulled out the tape measure again.

Twenty minutes later, they left the dark little shop, having gotten Dudley's wand (oak and unicorn hair core, twelve inches, sturdy and reliable).

Eeylops Owl Emporium was next on their agenda, so they stopped there and Dudley chose a beautiful brown owl with markings around the eyes, which he decided to name Iris. And then they went to the Magical Menagerie, where Evanna annoyed everybody by taking forever to decide between a male ginger cat with blue eyes and a squashed face (called Crookshanks) and a female green-eyed cat with black fur (named Seraphine). Eventually she decided on the latter, and the group went back to the Leaky Cauldron for some afternoon tea before heading back into the Muggle world.

Evanna was halfway through her second Cauldron Cake when she remembered something.

'Professor McGonagall,' she said abruptly, laying down her Cauldron Cake rather suddenly. It seemed awkward to be talking to the distinguished witch one-on-one, but she made do. 'Those people on the Knight Bus … everybody knew my name and wanted to shake my hand … am I  _famous_  in the wizarding world?'

Dudley spluttered pumpkin juice all over his half-eaten Cauldron Cake, but Professor McGonagall paid no heed. She fixed a pair of beady eyes on Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon.

'Do you mean to say you didn't tell her ...  _anything_?' she demanded majestically.

'We told her everything we knew ourselves,' Aunt Petunia burst in hurriedly, before Uncle Vernon had a chance to speak. 'I have not had contact with the wizarding world for ten years, Professor McGonagall, so how would I know that my niece is famous in it?'

Professor McGonagall noticeably subsided, and turned to Evanna sternly. 'You are famous in our world, Miss Potter, because of what happened the night You-Know-Who killed your parents. He tried to kill you too, with the Killing Curse – a spell that is unblockable – but somehow you survived with only a scar.' Evanna's hand moved unconsciously to the lightning scar on her forehead, tracing it, and Professor McGonagall nodded approvingly. 'Also, nobody really knows what happened that night, but You-Know-Who  _disappeared_. Nobody knows either whether he is gone for good or still out there, but the fact remains, Miss Potter, that you defeated the most powerful Dark Lord of our time, whether temporarily or not.'

Dudley had frozen with a Cauldron Cake raised halfway to his mouth, which was slightly open; Uncle Vernon was simply looking enlightened, but Aunt Petunia, noticing Evanna's stunned and slightly overwhelmed expression, leant over and gave her niece a swift hug.

* * *

Evanna was silent the entire way home. Not that she talked a lot usually, but this time she was thinking.

She was famous. She wasn't quite sure how to react to that. She'd always been the quietest girl in the class, the one who tended to get overlooked and forgotten about. Sure, the 'incidents' she'd had at school every since she was nine had given her a bit of unexpected notoriety, but she hated being in the spotlight, where everybody knew your name and was 'waiting for you to break down'. And she was only eleven! She hated attention but loved being different. It was odd, but then that was what she was.

* * *

The last few weeks before Dudley and Evanna would leave for Hogwarts passed relatively quickly. It was of course the summer holidays, and Dudley spent them hanging out with his friend Piers and several other boys, while Evanna buried herself in her bedroom and read through all her Hogwarts schoolbooks in a vain attempt to quench her loneliness. What the kids at school said was partly true: she didn't have any friends, but it wasn't true that she didn't want any.

Aunt Petunia took them to the cinema in the third week of August, but unfortunately they watched a fantasy-adventure film, which clashed horribly with what they knew magic to really be like. Evanna spent it whispering smart remarks to Dudley, who sniggered until Aunt Petunia threatened to take them out without seeing the end of the movie. So Evanna settled for thinking out the clever comments instead, and told them to Dudley afterwards. All in all, though, it was a decent summer.

Maybe it was out of nerves, but on the night of the thirty-first of August, Evanna had the oddest dream. She and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia and Dudley were going to London to catch the train to Hogwarts, but they ran into a faceless man wearing a long black cloak on the way. The man pulled back the hood of the cloak when he saw Evanna and pointed his wand at her. There was a flash of green light and a woman screamed, but it wasn't Aunt Petunia. And then she was a tiny baby in a cot, and there was a man with shaggy black hair and tears on his cheeks pleading with a black-eyed giant. But then the black-haired man disappeared and she was in a flying motorbike under the stars, with the giant holding her. And she saw herself, a one-year-old abandoned in a basket on the front steps of Number Four, Privet Drive, clutching a heavy-looking letter. The door opened and there was a scream …

… and Evanna sat up in bed very suddenly, her head reeling, and wondering how much of the dream was true. What she knew to be a fact, though, was that she and Dudley would be sleeping in beds at Hogwarts the next night, causing her to immediately wonder whether she'd remembered to pack the box of ballpoint pens she'd bought at the newsagent's the day before.


	5. A Journey on the Hogwarts Express

The next morning, Uncle Vernon drove all four of them to King's Cross Station. Both Evanna and Dudley had been puzzled when they found that their tickets for the Hogwarts Express were for platform nine-and-three-quarters. Evanna hadn't been to London very often, but she knew that the platform numbers for King's Cross were all whole numbers – one, two, three, four, etc. And there was nothing but a metal barrier separating platforms nine and ten.

Aunt Petunia knew all about it, of course, but to Evanna and Dudley's ever-increasing annoyance, she refused to tell them anything about how to get there until the moment when they all clambered out of the car, Uncle Vernon carrying Evanna's trunk, Dudley lugging his, Aunt Petunia holding Iris's cage, and Evanna gripping the handle of a wickerwork basket firmly, in which Seraphine was purring contentedly, her bright green eyes peering curiously out at the station. After collecting two sturdy station trolleys, they made their way through the crowded station to platforms nine and ten. Dudley looked bewildered at the triumphant look on Aunt Petunia face.

'All right, Dudley, off you go,' Aunt Petunia said cheerfully, pointing to the metal divider.

'Sorry?' Dudley said, staring. Evanna was also confused, but she didn't show it. Privately, she thought that if they were ever to get to the mysterious platform nine-and-three-quarters, if would have to be by magic. After all, it was in the wizarding world, and what would be the use of a platform specifically in the wizarding world if Muggles could access it without a problem?

'Go ahead, run straight at the wall,' Aunt Petunia told Dudley seriously. 'It's the door to the railway platform. Run straight at it and don't stop – Dad will go with you if you want.'

Seeing his mother really meant what she said, Dudley ventured nervously, 'But will you and Dad be able to – because you … I mean, you're – you're …' For once in his life, Dudley seemed incapable of speaking. Fortunately, they all realised what he meant.

'Yes, we can,' Aunt Petunia assured him, and Uncle Vernon looked visibly more sure of himself. 'You see, you have to  _know_  what's on the other side – and  _want_  to get there. Otherwise any Muggle who leans against the wall could suddenly find themselves sucked into another world.' This last sentence, Evanna knew, was said with the hope of reducing the tension, and it worked. Uncle Vernon chuckled and Dudley breathed deeply and aimed his trolley at the barrier, his father at his side. They half-walked, half-ran straight at it, and when they reached it, the end of the trolley, instead of colliding with the seemingly solid wall,  _went straight through it_ , as if the wall was merely an illusion. Another second … and then they were gone.

'Well, come on, then, Evanna,' Aunt Petunia said briskly. 'We're not only ones who need to get through the barrier, you know.' She grasped the edge of Evanna's trolley and together they pushed it through the wall.

They came out on a railway platform, not unlike the ones they had just left. It was large and bright and crowded; there were people everywhere, laughing, chattering and jostling each other good-naturedly. Evanna felt a small bubble of happiness explode in her stomach. She was here at last. There was a red steam-engine sitting in the station, pale fumes erupting from its top. Parents were kissing their children goodbye; there were owl cages and the sure, was filled with the loud meowing of cats. Children hung out of doors and windows. A tall black girl chatted animatedly to a burly boy of about fifteen about 'Bludgers' and 'replacement Seekers' – they were both very enthusiastic. A mother kissed her four redheaded boys goodbye – two of them were twins! … a girl with brown bushy hair and large front teeth chattered excitedly to her Muggle parents ...  _Hang_  on ...

Evanna squinted through the crowd at the girl, her heart thudding painfully in her chest. That was the girl who had seen her talk to the snake at the zoo! She hoped desperately that the other girl wouldn't turn and spot her.

'Are you all right, dear?' Aunt Petunia asked Evanna worriedly. 'You look a bit pale.'

Evanna averted her eyes and forced herself to look away from the other girl, and up at Aunt Petunia. 'I'm fine, Aunt Petunia,' she said automatically. 'Just … nervous, I guess.'

'Fair enough.' Aunt Petunia glanced at her husband. 'Vernon, it's five to; they'd better get on the train.' She bent and kissed Dudley – who, like most boys his age, despised public displays of affection. 'Mum … don't …' he mumbled.

Evanna didn't complain when Aunt Petunia kissed her too, and then gave her an extra-big hug. It gave her a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach, like she had eaten too much ice cream – only ice cream was cold, and this feeling was warm and wonderful, like something Evanna couldn't remember: her own mother's loving hugs. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia loved her dearly, but occasionally Evanna had had a melancholy, lonely feeling, like a little ache in her heart, that her aunt and uncle could never fill.

_Was that what it was like to have real parents?_

'Wait,' said Aunt Petunia suddenly, grasping Evanna's arm urgently and snapping the girl out of her pensive mood. 'There's something else you should know.'

Evanna hesitated. 'What is it?'

'Do you remember how we told you that Professor Dumbledore sent you to live with us right after your parents died?'

Evanna nodded.

'There's something I didn't tell you,' Aunt Petunia said, lowering her voice nervously. 'Professor Dumbledore didn't make sure you were safe with us when he dropped you off. He left you in a basket on the front porch. Didn't even bother to ring the doorbell. I only found you in the morning when I went to put out the milk bottles.'

 _'What?'_  Evanna breathed, aghast. 'Why didn't you tell me?'

'We didn't want to upset you,' Aunt Petunia said reasonably, oblivious to Evanna's indignation. 'But I'm telling you now, Evanna – just be careful of Professor Dumbledore. Your parents trusted him immensely, but I don't know how I can trust anybody who would abandon a baby on a front porch and never check up on her,  _ever_.' She cast a look at Uncle Vernon, who, aware that his wife was engaged in a  _private_  conversation, was (in a rare burst of tact) helping Dudley put the trunks on the train. 'You'd better get in the train too, dear.' Evanna gave her aunt a quick kiss and clambered on just as the whistle blew.

'Goodbye, both of you, and mind you watch out for each other,' Aunt Petunia called, as the train began to move. 'Dudley, take care of Evanna – promise me!'

'I will,' promised Dudley, more serious than Evanna had ever seen him. 'I'll send Iris with a letter every week!' He and Evanna waved as the train gained speed, pulling out of the station and causing Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia to disappear from sight.

'Come on, let's go find seats, Cat,' said Dudley, catching Evanna's wistful expression as she gazed out one of the corridor windows.

Evanna, who was by now too used to Dudley calling her Cat to care anymore, grabbed her trunk mechanically and followed Dudley down the aisle.

Pretty soon they came to a compartment Dudley seemed to fancy; he slid open the door and five students, all about their age, looked up and made no objection as Dudley dragged his trunk in and heaved it up on an overhead rack. Then, just realising something Evanna had noticed as soon as they walked in, he turned to her apologetically.

'There isn't really much room here,' he mumbled, suddenly embarrassed. 'But if you want to sit together …'

'It's OK,' Evanna interjected quickly, cutting off the awkward sentences. 'You sit here; I'll go find somewhere else.' With that, she closed the compartment door and continued down the narrow corridor. She was looking for a compartment that she would be willing to stay in for who knew how long, as the tickets didn't say where Hogwarts was, and Aunt Petunia didn't, or couldn't remember.

Seraphine seemed to be very picky about choosing a place to sit; she turned up her dainty nose at almost every door they passed, until they came to one compartment near the end of the train, with two girls, about Evanna's age, sitting inside. Then Seraphine jumped out of the basket and started pawing and meowing at the door animatedly. Annoyed, Evanna set down the empty basket on top of her trunk and tugged the door open.

Both girls looked up. The first thing that struck Evanna was how different they looked. The first girl was undoubtedly very pretty, with brown hair, big soft eyes and a delicate complexion, slightly marred by the proud, almost haughty expression on her face, whereas the other girl had daring blue eyes, a wide mouth and straight blonde hair not unlike Evanna's own. With a jolt, Evanna recognised the first girl as the elder of the girls they had seen briefly that day in Ollivander's.

'Hi,' she said politely; first impressions, she had learned the hard way, were easy to make, hard to forget and hence very important, so she wanted to get off on the right foot. 'You don't mind if I sit with you, do you?'

'No,' said the second girl affably. The first girl said nothing as the other helped Evanna stow her trunk up on the overhead rack. Evanna herself picked up Seraphine, who had been prowling around, purring softly, and moved her away from the door, which she slid shut again.

'So,' said the blonde girl, once Evanna was seated, 'what's your name? I'm Tracey Davis, pure-blood. My mum and dad are overseas, working for the Australian Ministry of Magic, so I stay with my aunt Jillian's family in Bedfordshire.'

'I'm Evanna Potter,' Evanna said. And then, because she felt stupid staying stuff that they probably already knew, she added, 'I live with my Muggle relatives and wizard cousin in Surrey.'

'Evanna Potter?' said the as-of-yet-unnamed girl, looking up at Evanna sharply. 'As in Lily Evanna Potter, the Girl Who Lived?'

Evanna nodded, hoping against hope that the girl wouldn't let out a shriek, the way Joelle Meadowes had. But she didn't.

'Pleased to meet you,' she said, her cold demeanour diminishing slightly. 'Daphne Greengrass, half-blood. My mum, little sister and I live in London.  _I_  certainly wouldn't be caught dead living with Muggles.'

Evanna felt annoyed. 'Well,  _I_  didn't have a choice,' she said pointedly. 'And my uncle and aunt are really nice to me.'

'All right, keep your hair on,' Daphne said in a bored tone. She turned to look out the window at what was still undoubtedly London. 'Know how long we take to get there?'

'Yeah,' said Tracey. 'At least six and a half hours – my cousin told me.'

They sat in a comfortable half-silence (there was too much noise coming from the rest of the train to even consider calling things quiet). It appeared that neither Tracey nor Daphne, unlike some other people Evanna knew, were the talkative type. Seraphine was sitting in Evanna's lap, looking very much like a green-eyed shadow, and Evanna was just wondering if she ought to have packed a lunch, and if not, what she was supposed to eat, when Tracey spoke up.

'Do either of you how they sort you into your houses?' she asked. 'My cousin wouldn't tell me – just kept making up these outrageous stories.'

'Oh, yes,' Daphne said smugly, without turning away from the window. 'Apparently, all you have to do is try on a ragged hat that's one thousand years old, and it looks inside your head and says what house you're in.'

'Really?' said Tracey doubtfully. 'It sounds a little dodgy ... What house do you think you'll get into?'

'No idea,' said Evanna. 'Both my mum and dad were in Gryffindor, but I don't know much about any of the houses to make a guess. Do you know if you always get sorted into the house the rest of your family's in?'

'Usually, you do,' Daphne said, 'but not necessarily. I once … heard … of a big wizarding family like that. They were all in Slytherin, but one of the sons got sorted into Gryffindor. Not sure what happened to him after that. I think he ended up in Azkaban.' Her tone of voice clearly showed that she was under the impression that the second aspect was a direct result of the first.

'Azkaban?'

'The wizard prison. I've heard it's really  _barbaric_ , the way they treat the prisoners. They give them barely enough food and water to keep them alive, and also, the guards aren't really  _human_  at all, but Dementors – horrible creatures who'll suck out your soul if you get too close. And the worst thing about the Dementors' – Daphne lowered her voice creepily – 'is they make you relieve your worst memories. People go  _mad_  in there – and they say most of the inmates already are.'

Evanna shivered. Tracey must have noticed, for she said hastily, 'Well, I think I'll probably be in Ravenclaw or Slytherin. Both my parents were in Ravenclaw.'

'That's the bit I don't think applies to me,' Evanna interrupted. 'I mean, I never knew my parents so why would I be in the same house as them?'

'Beats me.' Tracey shrugged. Daphne said nothing. Her big brown eyes were looking out of the window again, almost as if she were frightened, Evanna thought … but that couldn't be right, could it?


	6. Witches and Wizards and Magical Beasts

At half past twelve, a little old witch pushing a trolley full of snacks stopped by their compartment door and asked them if they wanted to buy anything. Evanna, who disliked sweets (they gave her a stomach-ache) only got a small bag of Chocolate Frogs and a few pumpkin pasties. Tracey bought some Everlasting Gobstoppers and a handful of Cauldron Cakes, while Daphne got, to Tracey's disgust, Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum and some Liquorice Wands.

'How can you  _eat_  those?' she demanded, and Evanna was unsure of whether she meant the beans, the bubble gum or the liquorice (by the sound of it, it was all three). 'They're disgusting!'

'Which ones?' Daphne raised an eyebrow, but Evanna was sure she saw the hint of a smile for the first time.

'Well, the Every-Flavour Beans, for one,' said Tracey, unwrapping an Everlasting Gobstopper. 'You can get all sorts of weird flavours, like Spanish onion and raw meat (yuck) and earwax. I hate unpredictability.'

'See? I'm weird,' Daphne murmured, sucking on the end of a Liquorice Wand. 'I love it.'

At twenty minutes past three or so, they had some visitors to their compartment. There was a blond boy with a pale, pointed face, who was flanked by two other rather stupid-looking boys with faces like the pictures of trolls Evanna had seen in her copy of  _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_.

'So,' drawled the middle boy, surveying the three girls with indifferent grey eyes. 'They're saying all down the train that Lily Potter's in this compartment. I guess the rumors were true' – and his eyes strayed to the scar on Evanna's forehead.

'Why don't you just shove off, Draco?' Daphne spoke up, and the boy's eyes flitted to her.

'And what are  _you_  doing here,  _cousin_? I would have thought that your mother wouldn't have been able to afford such a costly extravagance. Do say hello to her for me, will you? It's been  _so long_  since I last saw her, after all.'

Daphne did not reply, but she was white to the lips and Evanna could sense the anger radiating off her. Then Daphne stood up stiffly.

'You're not wanted, Draco,' she said icily, completely ignoring the boy's threatening-looking companions. 'Shut up and get out –  _now_.' She took a step towards him (Tracey and Evanna exchanged worried looks behind her back), drew back her arm and punched him full in the face. There was a satisfying  _crunch_  of bone and cartilage breaking and suddenly the boy's face was bloody. He let out a high-pitched howl and stumbled backwards out of the compartment, clutching his nose. Whereupon Daphne shut the door behind them and sat back down as if nothing had happened.

'That was a pretty good punch. Care to elaborate?' said Tracey finally, after several seconds of a rather tense silence.

Daphne scowled. 'That was my cousin, Draco Malfoy, and his two idiot cronies. Or rather, second cousin. Our mothers are cousins by blood.'

'Oh,' said Evanna uncomfortably. She and Tracey waited for further information, but Daphne did not supply it. Evanna privately thought that whatever Daphne was keeping from them, she would disclose when she was ready. Some things just couldn't be rushed.

They pulled into Hogsmeade Station at half-past five. Not long before they arrived, a bodiless voice, magically magnified, echoed through the air:  _'We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train; it will be taken to the school separately.'_

'Wonder if they include pets in "luggage"?' Evanna thought aloud as she, Tracey and Daphne changed into their witch's robes.

'You'd probably be best leaving her here,' Tracey advised, checking her reflection in one of the compartment's dark windows. 'We're supposed to be crossing the lake, and cats don't like water.'

Evanna took Tracey's advice before following the other two out into the corridor, which was frankly quite stuffed. Eventually they managed to find doors and get out onto a small, narrow platform.

'Firs'-years! Firs'-years over this way! called a loud, cheerful voice, and Evanna, Tracey and Daphne filled the voice to its source. It belonged to a giant of a man, with thick, wild dark hair and a very bushy beard. Instantly Evanna had some very strong  _d_ _é_ _j_ _à_ _vu_. That was the black-eyed giant from the dream she'd had just last night. She had the idea his name was Hagrid, but how did she know, when she hadn't heard his name before?

'Do you know that man's name?' she asked Daphne hesitantly, wanting to check if her sixth sense was right.

'Oh, yes, I've heard about him,' Daphne said indifferently, wrinkling her dainty nose with distaste. 'He's the Hogwarts gamekeeper, and he's called Hagrid.'

Evanna went cold to her very fingertips, but said nothing, her heart beating wildly, as Hagrid led them all down a path towards a huge lake. At the edge of the lake were lots of flimsy little wooden boats.

'No more'n four to a boat!' called Hagrid, as they all caught up with his enormous strides. Evanna found a boat and climbed into it, along with Tracey, Daphne and a dark-haired girl who shyly introduced herself as Sara Fawcett. Once they were all more or less settled in the boats, they began to glide slowly across the lake.

Evanna's first glimpse of Hogwarts shocked her, because as soon as she saw the thousand-year-old castle she froze, emotion bubbling up inside her. Excitement and relief to finally see it was there, of course, but buried underneath was a sense of affection, telling her softly over and over again,  _'This is my home. Welcome home.'_  Where was that coming from? She'd never seen Hogwarts before in her life. Evanna shivered, unintentionally clutching the edges of the boat to steady herself. If only the boats would hurry up ...

And then at last they were on the other side of the lake, tramping up to Hogwarts, and Hagrid was knocking on the door. It was opened by Professor McGonagall, who looked over the tired crowd of students with approval.

'Thank you, Hagrid, I will take them from here.'

'Anytime, Professor McGonagall,' said Hagrid cheerfully, nodding to her before he departed down the castle's great front steps. The door closed and Professor McGonagall turned to them all, giving them a quick run-through of the four Hogwarts houses (Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin) and what it meant to be in any of them, and how the House points system worked. Then she made them all straighten themselves and line up properly before leading them into the Great Hall.

The Great Hall was a huge room, filled with hundreds of students and staff. There were four long tables lined up and going the length of the Hall, one with scarlet and gold hangings, one with black and yellow, one with blue and bronze and one with green and silver. A white-haired man (the name 'Albus Dumbledore' popped into her mind, but this time she remembered where she'd seen it: in her copy of  _A History of Magic_ , underneath his picture) at the staff table up the front stood up and clapped for attention, and the Hall descended into quiet. Professor McGonagall brought out a chair and an old hat, and once the hat was seated, it opened a rip near its brim and began to sing:

> _Oh, you may not think I'm pretty  
>  _ _But don't judge on what you see ..._

It was a silly, nonsensical, witty and informative song, all at once, and Evanna found herself giggling at some of the little jokes and puns in it.  _I'll eat myself … I can cap them all … You're in safe hands (though I have none) …_  Evanna used the time to look around the other first years until she found the girl who saw her talk to snakes. Then the Sorting Ceremony began and Evanna felt suddenly both immeasurably guilty and scared. She'd know what the girl's name was … and the girl would see  _her_.

'Abbott, Hannah!'

'HUFFLEPUFF!'

'Bones, Susan!'

'HUFFLEPUFF!'

On and on the list went, and time and again Evanna glanced at the mysterious girl. Who  _was_  she?

'Davis, Tracey!'

Tracey took an unusually long time to be Sorted. Evanna could see the discomfort in her face as she waited, the Hat perched on her blonde head.

'SLYTHERIN!'

Evanna clapped as Tracey went over to the Slytherin table, which was the furthest from the front doors. The Slytherins wore the regulation black robes, but they were distinguished from the other houses by their hangings of green and silver.

'Dursley, Dudley!'

'GRYFFINDOR!'

Dudley made his way over to the Gryffindor table amid the loud and raucus cheering coming from it. Evanna felt suddenly jealous. Why couldn't she have had a surname near the start of the alphabet, like Tracey and Dudley?

'Granger, Hermione!'

_There!_

Evanna watched as the bushy-haired girl almost ran to the stool and eagerly pulled the hat on her head.

'GRYFFINDOR!' yelled the Hat.

Evanna tried to steady her frazzled nerves. As soon as Professor McGonagall called out 'Potter, Evanna' (or, most likely, 'Potter, Lily', since that was what most people on the wizarding world seemed to know her as), Hermione Granger would  _know_  … know that the Girl Who Lived could speak Parseltongue.

She didn't know why she was making such a big deal out of it. Then she remembered, with a sick sort of feeling, the words she had read in her copy of  _The Dark Arts: A Guide to Self-Protection_ :

> _Parseltongue, while not necessarily one of the Dark Arts, has been associated with them in wizarding world for hundreds of years. Some of the most famous wizards in Britain have been Parselmouths, such as Salazar Slytherin himself, and the highly feared He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. While one may argue that talking to snakes is a completely harmless ability, there are those who would condemn Parselmouths as Dark, despite what the greatest of magical historians say._

It made her feel horrible. Upon reading passage, her first instinct had been to want to hide –  _not_  suppress or ignore – her ability. What could be so Dark about talking to snakes? If it had been rabbits nobody would have branded it Dark. But  _snakes_  …

'Potter, Lily!'

Gasps and whispers broke out all over the Great Hall as Evanna walked the stool, one half understandably nervous, the other still pensively thinking about Parseltongue. So she only half-heard a voice coming from the inside of the Sorting Hat as Professor McGonagall dropped it on her small head and it settled down over her eyes.

'Well, well, what do we have here?' The Hat seemed to be talking to itself …  _weird_.

'Ah, let's see, not a hard choice,' the Hat went on. 'Not Hufflepuff, certainly …'

'What about Gryffindor?' Evanna thought, thinking of Dudley, and then realising too late that it would probably mean that she had to share a dormitory with Hermione Granger.

'Gryffindor? No, you are clever, resourceful and ambitious, several traits that Gryffindors do not stress. You have the brains and wit to be a Ravenclaw, but they are coupled with cunning and discretion. While both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw are possibilities, it is my belief that you will fulfil your dreams and live up to your potential in SLYTHERIN!'

There was the usual polite cheering and applause as Evanna stood up, feeling both relieved and dizzy. She went over to the Slytherin table and sat down next to Daphne and Tracey, but it was only when she glanced up at the staff table that she saw the Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, watching her with a politely bewildered, taken-aback look on his face. She spent about half a second vaguely wondering why as the Sorting ended soon after and Dumbledore made a few announcements.

The aptly titled Forbidden Forest in the Hogwarts grounds was … ahem,  _forbidden_  (big surprise there). There was a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Quirrell – a nervous, stuttering wizard who wore a purple turban. After dinner Professor Dumbledore led them in a kind of haphazard chorus as they sang the school song, which was as silly and at the same time clever as the Sorting Hat's own.

The Slytherin common room was down in the dungeons, behind a plain brick wall. The Prefects also gave the first-years a cursory tour of the rest of the dungeons. ('That's Professor Snape's classroom – you'll have Potions there; that's the dungeons' right wing – it's unused, and don't go there if you know what's good for you.')

The first-year girls' dormitories were large, with five four-poster beds – two on one side and three on the other. The whole room was chilly, dark and green, but there was a blazing fireplace in the other wall and the sheets looked warm and cosy. There were also carved bedside tables and a generous green-and-silver embroidered rug in the middle of the floor. All in all it was a nice place to spend school nights, Evanna thought blissfully as she undressed and pulled on her pyjamas, ready for bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title credit: _A Very Potter Musical_ by Team StarKid  
>  Dialogue credit: _Lockie Leonard, Human Torpedo_ by Tim Winton ('See? I'm weird. I love it.')


	7. Slytherins Stick Together

The very first lesson Evanna learned at Hogwarts was:  _Slytherins stick together_.

Come to think of it, it made sense. Slytherin House had a horrible reputation. As soon as you said you were in Slytherin people tended to look at you with more than a little wariness. After all, Voldemort himself had been in Slytherin, and to Evanna, witches and wizards seemed to tar all Slytherins with the same brush. So the Slytherins took care of their own members of house, because nobody else did. That was partly the reason, also, Evanna guessed, why Professor Snape, who was the Head of Slytherin, favoured his own students quite obviously. It was only too clear that nobody else would. Having not met Snape yet, however, she couldn't be sure.

With Dudley being in Gryffindor and herself being in Slytherin, it tended to make things difficult. They only shared one class, ate meals at different tables, had different common rooms, and therefore were unable to spend as much time together as they did back at home. At home they were the closest of brother and sister (Dudley was able to get Evanna to 'open up' when nobody else could) – at Hogwarts, they were merely friends.

They hung out with different people. Dudley became immediate friends with Ron Weasley, a Gryffindor boy he had met on the train, whereas Evanna stuck to Tracey and Daphne. Her only intentions then were to enjoy Hogwarts, get good grades, and find out more about her parents. But it wasn't until their first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson that things took a sinister turn.

* * *

Defence Against the Dark Arts sucked. No, scrap that. It really, really,  _really_  sucked.

The DADA teacher was of course Professor Quirrell, a stuttering man with a purple turban who looked as though he'd faint at the sight of a troll. He smelled very strongly of garlic, leading several people to the over-imaginative conclusion that he was on the run from several hungry and highly angry vampires. His classes became a standing joke, and when Draco Malfoy remarked loudly in the common room that Hogwarts was going to the dogs, because Albus Dumbledore couldn't even see to hire halfway decent professors, Evanna felt very inclined to agree with him, though she didn't say so. She had learned very quickly that being in Slytherin House was similar to being an apprehended Muggle criminal in one respect: everything you said could be taken down and used in evidence against you – and the tricky part was that it often was.

But It was in Defence Against the Dark Arts class that Evanna would get headaches that would put her in a very unEvanna-like mood, without her even realising it.

Their first DADA class was on Tuesday, after Transfiguration and lunch but before History of Magic. The Transfiguration lesson had been particularly gruelling, courtesy of Professor McGonagall, and Evanna was tired and irritated. DADA only served to accentuate her headache, until she had her hands pressed to her forehead in an attempt to ease the pain, unable to listen to or comprehend one word of what Professor Quirrell was saying.

There was a light tap on her shoulder. 'Are you all right?' Tracey whispered, concerned.

'I'm fine,' Evanna muttered back, not at all so. 'Just a headache.'

'Do you need the hospital wing?'

'I said I'm  _fine_ ,' Evanna hissed stubbornly. 'Just leave me alone, OK?'

Then Daphne was leaning over surreptitiously from the desk next to Evanna and Tracey's. 'Don't be ridiculous, Evanna,' she snapped under her breath. Then, before Evanna could stop her, she raised her hand.

Professor Quirrell, who had just asked Gregory Goyle, the more stupid of Draco Malfoy's 'idiot cronies', about why not all curses were necessarily Dark (to which Goyle was looking characteristically blank), jumped when he spotted Daphne's hand and looked as if he thought it was about to jump on  _him_  and bite his head off. 'Y-Y-Yes, M-M-M-Miss G-Greengrass?'

'I don't have an answer to the question,' Daphne said smoothly, while Evanna kneaded her forehead in agony, 'but could Evanna and I please be excused so I can take her to the hospital wing? She's not feeling very well.' Evanna gave Daphne a weak glare, to which Daphne only smirked.

'Y-Y-yes, of c-c-c-course,' stammered Professor Quirrell, even though skipping the first class was an unwritten no-no. Evanna sensed the whole class's eyes on her back as Daphne helped her out of the classroom. Once they were in the corridor and the door was closed behind them, Evanna felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders and she sank to her knees, suddenly dizzy. After a few minutes, however, the dizziness disappeared, and Daphne pulled her to her feet.

'You're going straight to the hospital wing,' she stated rather than suggested, and Evanna, who was in no condition to argue, let herself be dragged by Daphne to Madam Pomfrey. The headache was still there, but it seemed nowhere near as intense as it had been in Quirrell's classroom.

Madam Pomfrey gave Evanna a potion for instant pain relief, but strangely the pain only receded gradually, leaving her feeling as though she'd just fought a long and hard battle. On top of that, Madam Pomfrey only let them leave after twenty minutes, and even then only because Daphne said they would be late for their next lesson.

'At least it's only History,' Daphne remarked as they half-walked, half-ran to their next class. 'Know who teaches?'

'Professor Binns,' Evanna answered, and then was taken aback by her own knowledge. When had she learned that?

Daphne nodded. 'He's a ghost. People say he didn't even notice when he died.'

If Defence Against the Dark Arts had been bad, History of Magic was worse. Professor Binns was so deeply boring that it was a struggle just to stay awake in his classes. He went on and on about goblin rebellions while Tracey and Pansy Parkinson had a contest to see who could spend the longest time continuously sucking a Sugar Quill (Tracey won, though narrowly), Blaise Zabini counted Millicent Bulstrode's freckles, Crabbe and Goyle snored, their heads leaning against each other and Evanna occupied herself with remembering the last words Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia said to her before she left for Hogwarts.  _(Be wary of Dumbledore; you and Dudley watch out for each other.)_  Before long, the pain in her head was completely gone and she began a futile attempt to take comprehensive notes on what Professor Binns seemed to be saying.

After History was Herbology with the Ravenclaws. In Herbology Professor Sprout told them about the Devil's Snare, a magical plant that tried to strangle you, and liked the dark and the damp.

They had Astronomy class on Wednesday at midnight, at the top of the tallest tower. Professor Sinistra was a thin, black witch who was nevertheless a mixture of kindly and strict. She was kindly in the way that she cheerfully offered to help anybody who needed it, and was strict in the way that she tolerated, like Professor McGonagall, exactly  _no nonsense_. She gave then a quick introduction and then they spilt into pairs and took turns charting and exploring the night sky with their telescopes – something Tracey was very good at.

Susan Bones from Hufflepuff was Evanna's partner. She was a plain, likeable girl with a blonde plait down her back and a cheerful, honest smile. She obligingly wrote down the star and planet positions as Evanna studied them through the telescope.

'If this was Divination we'd be checking what the positions of the stars and planets mean,' commented Susan. 'My aunt thinks Divination is a load of rubbish, but it isn't offered until third year, so we've got nothing to worry about.'

'I'm glad this  _isn't_  Divination, then,' Evanna said as she moved the telescope around slowly and peered through it. 'Hey, Susan, I've found a shooting star. It went too fast to make a wish, though,' she added jokingly.

'What are you talking about, make a wish?' Susan asked absentmindedly as she labelled Mars.

'Muggle custom,' Evanna muttered, realising her mistake. 'Hey, it's done; let's show Professor Sinistra.'

After class they all trooped down flight after flight of stairs to the bottom of the castle, where they split – the Hufflepuffs to go to their common room (which everybody knew was in the basement but nobody bar the Hufflepuffs knew exactly where the entrance was, or how to get in) and the Slytherins to their resident dungeon.

'I rather like our common room,' Tracey remarked as they all filed through the opening in the wall after Blaise said the password ( _'Oculus Autem Serpens'_ ). 'The Hufflepuffs have a basement and the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws have towers, but we have a cool dungeon under the lake. Did you know' – she lowered her voice confidentially - 'that Salazar Slytherin was supposed to have had a private dungeon down here? Only nobody knows where it is – or if they do, they're not telling.'

* * *

On Thursday they had Defence again. Evanna was slightly wary, remembering only too well what had had happened in her disastrous first lesson. But headaches were headaches, and since she didn't get them very often, it was extremely unlikely she'd have another – and in the same class, too.

It built up slowly this time, gradually. On Tuesday Evanna had thought that nothing had ever hurt (physically as least) as much as that headache did. But she was wrong. Now that she knew what it was like, it felt a thousand times worse.

Evanna stuck it out this time, determined not to make a scene, but was nevertheless extremely relieved when the bell rang, signifying end of class. She hadn't been able to take in more than a few sentences, meaning she'd have to study later if she didn't want to fall behind in Defence. She stood up hastily and then almost collapsed as the pain in her head suddenly heightened. As it was, her knees buckled and her vision went black for a tiny instant. She straightened, slightly nauseous, as Daphne and Tracey helped her up.

'What happened?' Tracey asked, once they were in the corridor and the rest of the class had gone.

'It's obvious,' interrupted Daphne, before Evanna could speak. 'A splitting headache, just like last time. The question is why.'

Evanna leant against the wall and slid down until she was sitting on the floor, back to the stone. 'No idea,' she answered, feeling drained and exhausted. 'I just wish it wouldn't happen!' She rubbed angrily at her forehead.

'Hey, do that again,' Daphne demanded.

Puzzled, Evanna massaged her head again. The headache seemed to be centering on one particular spot.

She saw Daphne and Tracey exchange furtive looks. 'What's wrong?'

'Your scar,' Tracey said in a hushed voice. 'Has it ever hurt before – before Tuesday, I mean?'

'No …' She ran one finger over the thin, lightning-shaped scar on her forehead. It felt like it was burning.

'You've got to tell someone,' Daphne hissed, glancing over her shoulder to make sure the corridor was deserted. 'Snape or Madam Pomfrey or somebody.'

'What?' Evanna was horrified. 'You think I'm going to go crying to Snape or Madam Pomfrey because of a little headache? It's just a coincidence, this business. No way. Just drop it, both of you.'

Tracey looked hurt, but Daphne grabbed Evanna's shoulders.

 _'Look!'_  she ordered, shaking Evanna and making her head throb. 'This ISN'T a coincidence, Evanna Potter! Someone's out to get you!'

'Out to get … me?' Evanna shook her head. 'Don't be thick, Daph, this is only the second time. It's not as if I can't handle it. Now  _drop it_ , why don't you?'

And she strode off to lunch, Tracey and Daphne staring after her.


	8. Potions in the Dungeon

Much to Evanna's relief, neither Tracey nor Daphne mentioned the subject again – in her hearing, at least. She didn't tell Dudley, either. Not that she didn't trust him – she'd known him basically all her life! – but rather the fact that it was something too trivial to mention. Daphne's just being paranoid, she told herself firmly, squashing her niggling doubts. Why would somebody at Hogwarts be out to get her, anyway?

Double Potions with Professor Snape was something Evanna had had definite mixed feelings about. On the one hand, they would be having it along with the Gryffindors, and therefore she would get to see Dudley, but on the other hand, Potions sounded messy and frustratingly precise, and she had gotten that impression before she'd even stepped into Professor Snape's chilly dungeon classroom that first Friday.

Much to Evanna's disappointment, Daphne could not attend. She had woken up that morning feverish and vomiting, and Tracey and Evanna had had to escort her to the hospital wing. By the looks of it, Madam Pomfrey wasn't going to let her out until that evening or even later.

So it was that Evanna found herself partnerless in her first Potions lesson. Tracey had paired up with Blaise Zabini (she flashed Evanna a half-apologetic, half-smug look) and Dudley was matched with Ron Weasley, but Evanna stood next to her cauldron by herself, hoping Professor Snape wouldn't notice.

Professor Snape did notice, however. His black eyes swept the room and settled on Evanna, who was blithely checking up something in her Potions textbook. 'Miss Potter, why do you not have a partner when I explicitly ordered you all to have one?' he snapped. Before she could reply, his eyes searched the class again and found a bushy-haired Gryffindor girl who was in a set of three students clustered messily around a cauldron. 'It appears that some of you are quite incapable of obeying simple instructions,' he drawled. 'Five points from Gryffindor.' (This caused an outbreak of indignant muttering from the Gryffindors that Snape quelled with a look.) 'Miss Granger, bring your things over here and partner with Miss Potter.'

Hermione Granger quickly stacked up her things, stuffed them in her bag and dragged it over next to Evanna, who resisted the urge to groan. Out of all the people …

'Today you well be attempting to brew the Cure for Boils – that is, if you can manage to wrap your little minds around such an absurdly simple potion,' Snape said in a bored tone. 'The instructions are on page fifteen of your textbooks, and you should have all the necessary ingredients in your potions kits, so under no circumstances should you feel the need to steal from my potions cupboard' – he jerked his head lazily at a large cupboard near the blackboard. 'Well, what are you all waiting for? Begin!'

It  _was_  a very simple potion, Evanna realised quickly as Granger flipped through  _Magical Drafts and Potions_  to find the potion recipe. But then she found out that its preparation was complicated by the fact that she and Hermione Granger argued over just about every instruction the book gave. Granger was adamant that the instructions be obeyed to the letter, whereas Evanna insisted that the book left some things unsaid, and that they could embellish the instructions if need be.

'But the book doesn't  _say_  to stir the potion after the crushed fangs,' Granger protested.

'So what?' Evanna snapped, exasperated. 'It's either that or turn the heat down, otherwise the stuff'll burn! Wake up, Granger, the book's not going to spell everything out for you.'

Granger looked hurt and Evanna felt immediately guilty. But she busied herself with collecting four horned slugs from her potions kit. Then she began adding them gradually into the mixture.

'What are you doing, Potter?' Granger hissed angrily. 'You're ruining it! The instructions don't say 'gradually add four horned slugs', it just says to add them!'

'But it's turning out even better,' Evanna told the other girl smoothly – and she was right, too. Truthfully, she didn't know  _why_  she'd done it – it just seemed  _right_. The same way recklessly adding an extra dried nettle to the potion also felt  _right_. Evanna knew she was playing with fire, but she couldn't stop now.

Just as Granger was about to add the porcupine quills, Evanna stopped her and pulled the cauldron off the fire. It seemed like a case of simple forgetfulness that came from Granger's being so flustered, but Evanna had the uncomfortable, instinctual feeling that something very nasty would happen if they neglected to take the cauldron off the flames first.

They had nearly finished adding the ingredients and were up to the final lot of stirring when a truly disgusting smell reached Evanna's nose. Without thinking, she scrambled up on her stool just as clouds of billowing green smoke filled the dungeon. One of the Gryffindors, a nervous, round-faced boy, had somehow managed to melt his cauldron and get himself covered in his botched potion, which spread all over the floor and dissolved the shoes of people who hadn't already scrambled onto their stools. Snape was livid.

'Stupid boy!' he snarled at the trembling Gryffindor, whose skin was swiftly erupting in nasty-looking boils. 'I suppose it was too much to remember to take the cauldron off the fire  _before_  you added the porcupine quills?'

Granger shot Evanna a quick, calculating look.

'Take him to the hospital wing,' Snape snarled at a sandy-haired Gryffindor boy, and the two of them scurried out.

After their potions were completed, Snape stalked up and down the aisles, saying things like, 'Way too thick, Thomas – I expect you thought you could get away without stirring?' and 'If you had actually bothered to  _read_  the instructions, Miss Brown, you would have found that you are supposed to add  _two_  porcupine quills, not just one.' (This last remark had the effect of making Granger scowl at Evanna and Evanna to feel, if possible, even more guilty.)

When Snape got to Evanna and Granger's cauldron, he stared at the deep blue potion critically before saying smoothly, 'Five points to Slytherin for a flawless potion. Miss Potter, stay after class,' before moving on to Tracey and Blaise's cauldron. This caused all the Gryffindors (except Dudley) to shoot poisonous looks at Evanna, as if it were somehow  _her_  fault that Granger hadn't won any points when they'd worked on the potion  _together._  Evanna herself was in a quandry. Had Professor Snape noticed her adapting the potion? Was that why he wanted to see her after class?

After everybody else had gone, with curious glances at Evanna, she was left alone with Snape. At first he seemed to ignore her as he tidied up the dingy classroom with flicks of his wand. Then he rounded on her.

'Why didn't you obey the instructions when you made your potion, Miss Potter?' he snapped at her. 'Do you have any  _idea_  of the dangers you could have caused?'

Put that way, Evanna's excuse, albeit truthful, seemed ridiculously lame: 'Because it felt right, Professor.'

'It … felt …  _right_ ,' Snape repeated mockingly.

'It's hard to explain,' Evanna said defensively.

'Indeed,' Snape muttered sarcastically. 'Tell me, Miss Potter, did you study Potions before you entered this class?'

'Only the textbook, sir,' Evanna said honestly. 'I read that three times.'

Snape made a sound very like a snort. 'Indeed,' he said again, but this time without the sarcasm. This time his tone was almost …  _wondering_.

'Maybe ... maybe I'll just stick to the proper instructions next time, sir,' Evanna said quickly, not wanting to get in Snape's bad books. She could tell that he was a person who could make things  _very_  nasty for her if he felt so inclined.

Snape didn't seem to have heard her. 'Get out your things and brew a Shrinking Solution.'

'But  _sir_  …' Evanna began, not wanting to anger the professor. It was lunchtime, after all.

It didn't work. Snape flicked his wand at the blackboard behind his desk and a set of instructions appeared there.  _'Now,'_  Snape snarled, venom in his voice.

Evanna groaned softly, inwardly cursing Snape. Not another potion! And during lunch, too! She glanced at the list on the board. 'Sir … I'll need some extra ingredients,' she ventured.

Snape hissed impatiently but flicked his wand again, this time at the forbidden potions cupboard. Evanna needed no bidding. She collected what she needed and began brewing the potion, acutely aware that Snape was watching every move she made.

It was quarter past two when the potion was finally done. The Shrinking Solution was bright green, and looked rather unappetising, but Evanna was sure she had brewed it correctly, and felt reasonably proud of it, if truth be told. 'I'm finished, sir.'

Snape acted exactly as Evanna had expected. He inspected her potion very carefully, as if trying to find something wrong with it. Finally he vanished it with a wave of his wand. 'Miss Potter! Eight o'clock tonight. Back here. Don't be late. And bring your Potions things.'

'Yes, sir.' Evanna answered, packing up her things hurriedly with another silent groan.  _More_  Potions! As if twice already hadn't been enough! What was Snape playing at, anyhow?

'Now leave.' And Snape swept out of the classroom, his black cloak billowing behind him.

* * *

'So, what kept you?' Tracey demanded, as the two of them made their way to the hospital wing to see Daphne.

'Snape wanted me to brew a Shrinking Solution for him,' Evanna explained.

'A Shrinking Solution?' Tracey wrinkled her nose. ' You  _do_  know that's a third-year potion, right?'

'What, really?'

Tracey nodded impatiently. 'How'd you go?'

Evanna shrugged. ' _I_  think I went pretty well, though Snape didn't say anything. He wants me to report there again tonight.'

'Maybe he thinks you need Remedial Potions,' Tracey joked.

'Ha ha, very funny,' Evanna said sarcastically.

'I'm serious.'

'And I'm Moaning Myrtle.'

'OK, it doesn't make sense,' Tracey agreed. 'But think about it, Evanna – Snape  _must_  think you're good, or he wouldn't waste his time making you brew a third-year potion. Even if you are the Girl Who Lived.'

Evanna winced. 'I wish you wouldn't call me that.'

'Well, what  _do_  you want us to call you, then? Lily? Didn't you go to school with Muggles? What did  _they_  call you?'

Evanna wished Tracey hadn't asked. 'Cat. They called me Cat.'

' _Why?_  Or is that just what Muggles do, come up with strange nicknames for no reason?'

Evanna bristled slightly. After all, her own aunt and uncle were Muggles. 'There was a reason.' She told Tracey about the incidents with the swing that had happened ever since she was eight. 'They called me it because I always landed on my feet, like a cat.'

'Well, for once Muggles were right about something,' Tracey said. 'You do always land on your feet. Can Daphne and I call you Cat, too?'

Evanna hesitated, then nodded.

That was the funny thing about nicknames, Evanna realised afterwards, as she, Tracey and Daphne spent the afternoon doing their homework by the lake. She'd minded very much when any of the kids at her old school had called her that, because they meant it as a name to mock and tease and not as a term of endearment. But then she didn't mind, somehow, when Dudley called her Cat, because he was her cousin and she knew he would never intentionally hurt her feelings. And now she found she rather liked Daphne and Tracey calling her Cat.

It had everything to do with the  _feelings_  behind the word, she knew now. And whether the speaker regarded her as a friend or not. Some people might have said that it did not make much of a difference at all, but Evanna knew better.

It made a great deal of difference.

It made all the difference in the world.

* * *

'Hey, Potter.'

Evanna twisted around from where she was, lying on her stomach and writing an essay on a deeply boring History topic for Professor Binns. The intruder turned out to be Granger.

'What do you want?' Evanna asked, surprised. Gryffindors and Slytherins rarely associated with each other unless they had to – one of Hogwarts' unwritten laws that Evanna found stupid.

'To know how you did it,' Granger said coolly. 'How did you know which aspects of the potion to adapt?'

 _Not this again._  'I just did,' Evanna said evasively to Granger, feeling annoyed.  _Don't bring up Parseltongue if you know what's good for you, Granger,_  she silently pleaded.

Granger rolled her eyes superciliously. 'And you expect me to believe that?'

'What do you  _want_  her to say, Granger? That she cheated?' Daphne snapped, looking up from her copy of  _A History of Magic_ , her velvet brown eyes glaring at Granger.

Granger ignored Daphne. 'Well, it looked like cheating to  _me_ ,' she said smugly. 'How else did you manage to get the potion perfect without obeying the instructions?'

'Some of us,' Tracey remarked suddenly, with killing sarcasm that almost made Evanna cringe, 'would find exactly what we're talking about before accusing other people of cheating. Especially when Cat didn't. Now, if you don't mind, could you please leave? Unless you're going to claim  _we're_  cheating on our homework, too.'

Granger looked both shocked and disappointed, but with an angry huff, she spun around and left.


	9. Potions Revisited

Evanna felt guilty afterwards, when she was sitting with Tracey and Daphne at dinner, that Daphne had spoken so cuttingly to Hermione Granger. But then she remembered the way Granger had acted to her during Potions, and how she had practically accused Evanna of cheating, and felt better. And  _then_  (her stomach was feeling decidedly uncomfortable by now) she felt guilty again because she happened to glance over at the Gryffindor table and saw that all the other students had made a point of sitting well away from Granger (who, if truth be told, was looking positively miserable). Maybe it was just because she was feeling reckless that day, but for Evanna that settled it.

'Excuse me,' she said quickly, pulling her copy of  _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_  out of her bag, standing up from the Slytherin table and making her way over to Granger. Tracey and Daphne were too engrossed in a heated argument about the idiocy of Quidditch (Tracey adored it and Daphne found it silly, illogical and pointless) to hear her, and nobody else was close enough.

'Hey,' she said blithely, climbing over the bench to sit next to Granger, but before she could say anything more, a voice called out from behind her jeeringly.

'Hey, Potter, what's the matter? Your own table not good enough for you?'

'Yeah, it isn't enough to steal Gryffindor's points in class, but you have to steal a seat at our table too?'

Evanna ignored all the voices directed towards her and showed Granger her Transfiguration textbook. 'Look, I know it's a long shot, but there's some stuff I don't get in here, and since everybody knows you're top of the class, I was wondering if you could, you know, explain some of the things to me.'

Granger was clearly astonished, but she pushed away her half-eaten plate of steak-and-kidney pie and pulled Evanna's book towards her, flipping through it until she found the part Professor McGonagall had lectured them on, as Evanna knew she would. 'Which parts are you having trouble with?'

Evanna showed her, just as somebody grabbed her shoulder and twisted it around painfully. 'What do you think you're doing, you little sneak?' a second-year Gryffindor boy snarled, glaring down Evanna. 'Trying to cheat again' – and by this Evanna knew that the story of her first Potions class had gotten all around the school in record time – 'by copying our work? Why don't you get back to the snakes' den where you belong?'

Evanna had no answer, but she didn't need to give one. Dudley, who had been sitting at the other end of the table with Ron Weasley, had heard the commotion and was making his way over to Evanna and Granger. 'You'll leave my cousin alone if you know what's good for you, McLaggen,' he said bravely, taking a warning step towards the Gryffindor boy.

Nobody knew how, but suddenly Professor Snape was standing behind Evanna, his black eyes glittering.

'Sit down, Dursley,' he snapped at Dudley. Then he turned to the other Gryffindors, who visibly paled. 'Let's see, twenty points each from Gryffindor for every person to harass Miss Potter,' he said silkily, his lip curling with malice, ignoring the cries of outrage from the Gryffindors. 'So that's twenty points each from McLaggen, Jordan, Paterson, Miss Brown and Miss Debenham. Miss Potter, pick up your things and come with me _at once_.'

Evanna did as she was told, prying  _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_  from Granger's clutches with a grimace of apology and shooting a grateful look at Dudley. Quickly she grabbed her bag from the Slytherin table and followed Snape out of the Great Hall. She didn't dare glance at any of the other Gryffindors. Snape had just taken one hundred points from Gryffindor in the first week. Now even more reason for the members of that house to be out for her blood.

_Brilliant._

Snape strode down to the dungeons and paused briefly at the entrance to the Slytherin Dungeon to give the password. Then he turned to Evanna.

'Get in there and get everything you need for Potions,' he snapped, and Evanna could tell he was peeved at the Gryffindors' treatment of her – or, indeed, their treatment of any member of his house. She collected her things quickly, realising that Snape, of course, had decided to start her impromptu Potions earlier than eight o' clock … not that she minded particularly. She just wanted to get it over and done with.

Snape set her to brewing a ridiculously advanced potion, while practically breathing down her neck the whole time. To make it easier, she tried to pretend that he was Dudley looking over her shoulder while she was doing get homework, as he had often done in primary school. But that reminded her of the way Dudley had stood up for her when no other Gryffindor had, and resolved to thank him properly as soon as she decently could.

Her potion wasn't quite the right colour, exactly, but she felt she had done a fairly good job nevertheless. Snape criticised her job very heavily, going on about barely noticable, but obviously important things like the thickness of the potion and the way it poured back after you lifted out a ladleful. Then, in a sequence that was remarkable like the scene that afternoon, he vanished her potion and hissed at her to get out of his sight.

It was ten o' clock – one-and-a-half hours past curfew – when she left, grumpy, feeling slightly nauseous from too much Potions and inordinately tired, the last of which was very odd as she was sure she'd been sleeping just fine at night. She was barely ten metres away from the section of stone wall that led to the Slytherin Dungeon when, to her great annoyance, she ran into Peeves.

'Get lost, Peeves,' she grumbled rudely at the poltergeist, who let out an insane cackle of laughter.

'Ooh, it's an ickle firstie!' he chuckled, flipping over and over in midair. 'Sneaking around the castle, are we, Potter? Breaking rules and wandering around at night, eh?'

'Peeves, shove off or I'll call the Bloody Baron!' Evanna hissed aggressively, trying to duck around him.

Then quite a few things happened at once.

Peeves grabbed Evanna's hair, which happened to be tied up in a ponytail, and yanked it hard upwards, just as two staggering waves of magic burst forth. One came from behind Evanna and hit her quite easily, though it didn't have any noticable effect, whereas the other came from Evanna herself: an enormous blast that sent Peeves spinning and hurtling away down the corridor and forced Evanna to her knees.

The first thing she did was to scramble to her feet and check that there was nobody behind her. Had she really felt that wave of magic, or had she gotten it muddled up with her own? She had no idea, and that was what unnerved her. She, like her aunt, absolutely _hated_  not knowing what was going on. And now this! It was insufferable. She picked up all her things and stuffed them pell-mell into her cauldron before snarling the password at the common room entrance and going inside. She would find out what was going on, if it killed her.

* * *

> _Dear Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon,_
> 
> _Hope you are both well and that the neighbours don't crack onto the owls. I've always thought that we have the nosiest neighbours in all of Surrey – especially that Mrs Figg._
> 
> _Hogwarts has been going all right. Dudley is in Gryffindor (as he probably told you) but I'm in Slytherin;_ our _common room is down in the dungeons, under the lake. I share a dorm with four other girls: Millicent Bulstrode, Pansy Parkinson and two girls I met on the train – Tracey Davis and Daphne Greengrass. They're pretty nice. Dud and I have two classes together: Potions in the dungeon with Professor Snape (who's also Head of Slytherin) and Flying in the grounds with Madam Hooch, which started on Thursday. I know you said you wanted me to write every week, like Dudley does, but I was a bit sick last weekend and Madam Pomfrey, the hospital-wing matron, wouldn't let me do any 'strenuous activity' – as if writing a simple letter is 'strenuous activity'. She's a bit overprotective._
> 
> _Our first flying lesson was rather interesting. There's a Slytherin boy in our year called Draco Malfoy who's always picking on others, especially Gryffindors, and even Slytherins when the other houses aren't looking. Well, Madam Hooch was teaching us how to hold our brooms correctly and then she lined us all up ready to fly, but a boy in Gryffindor got cold feet and kicked off the ground too early. He ended up falling off his broom while he was up in the air, and broke his wrist. Madam Hooch was going to take him to the hospital wing, but Dudley volunteered to do it instead. Good thing – Draco Malfoy eyeing the little glass ball the boy dropped was a bomb about to go off._
> 
> _We practiced flying properly after that and Madam Hooch said I was one of the better ones in the class. After class she took me to Professor Snape, who offered me a place on the Slytherin Quidditch team, but even if I was allowed a broom, I don't really like Quidditch._
> 
> _I've got to hurry up and give this letter to Dudley before dinner so he can send Iris off to you. I really could just go up to the Owlery and borrow a school owl, but maybe the neighbours might notice if TWO owls bearing letters came to Privet Drive every week._
> 
> _Love from your niece, Evanna_

'Sounds like she's having fun,' chortled Vernon, after he had finished reading the letter over his wife's shoulder. 'At least now we know why she didn't write last Saturday.' He kissed Petunia on the cheek and left for work, whistling the theme from  _Postman Pat_.

Petunia only nodded vaguely. She had long ago learned to read between the lines of whatever her niece said; that was the only way she would be able to catch onto what was really going on beyond all the trivia and cheerfulness.

 _I was a bit sick last weekend …_  Petunia frowned when she read that part. How sick did Evanna have to be for the matron to deem writing 'strenuous activity' for her? She'd have to ask Dudley. Evanna had a bad habit of drawing attention away from herself – downplaying her own needs and achievements as if she were last on her priority list. Not that humility and lack of arrogance were bad things, just that she tended to overdo them.

At the second-last paragraph, Petunia found herself shaking her head. Evanna had written that Madam Hooch had said she was only 'one of the better ones' – but that obviously wasn't accurate if the teacher had taken her to the Head of House afterwards – and that professor had offered  _her_ , a first-year who had never before flown a broom, a coveted spot on the house Quidditch team! Petunia reminded herself to have a talk with her niece when the latter came home for Christmas before sighing and turning to Dudley's letter – which was, by contrast, blunt, honest, short and succinct –  _very_  characteristic of Dudley.

> _Dear Mum and Dad,_
> 
> _Second week at Hogwarts was good. Neville broke his wrist in Flying on Thursday and I took him to the hospital wing. Cat was pretty sick last weekend – that's why she couldn't write. There's a girl called Hermione Granger in my class who answers all the teachers' questions and gets a lot of points for Gryffindor. Ron doesn't like her too much because he says she's too bossy and smart for her own good, but I think it's because she was only one of us who could turn a match into a needle in our second Transfiguration class – and she was sitting next to him, so his own match looked even worse next to her needle._
> 
> _Well, I think that's everything; love from Dudley._


	10. The Stupidest Way to Spend Hallowe'en

There was a huge tree in the Hogwarts grounds; a highly dangerous willow that 'whomped' anybody that came near it. That is, except Evanna.

She had first discovered it while aimlessly roaming the castle grounds early on Hallowe'en morning. It was actually a school day, not the weekend, but she had woken up several times during the night with a particularly awful nightmare, and had had the worst time trying to get back to sleep. She couldn't even remember what the nightmares were about, either – just that she woke up from each one sweaty and shaking.

At five or so in the morning she decided to call it a bad job and got up in the greenish-darkness, stumbling around to get her clothes, with that annoying sensation of being tired but not sleepy. She half-wanted to remember what the dreams were about, but then she realised that they were probably about her mum and dad: after all, Hallowe'en  _was_  the day they had died, all of ten years ago.

She wandered listlessly through the empty castle without much aim or appetite. Tracey had shown her where the secret entrance to the kitchens was (her cousin had told  _her_ ), but the thought of food made her feel queasy. Subconsciously her feet took her to the Entrance Hall, where the great front doors opened magically for her (was that accidental magic, subconscious wishing or was Hogwarts sentient?), and she wandered out onto the cold, dewy ground in the light of the semi-dawn.

The Whomping Willow was standing on the edge of the grounds – only Evanna didn't know it was called the Whomping Willow – and Evanna looked up at it to see its leafy branches, already turning orange and brown in the mid-autumn, reaching out to her.  _Wait, what?_

Evanna blinked. The branches of the tree seemed like a pair of warm, loving arms. Without thinking very much at all, she crawled into the nest they made and sat up in it as the Willow lifted its branches back into their normal positions, blocking her view of the sunrise with a curtain of green, whip-like hangings. Staring at the sunset made her feel, if possible, more tired. She glanced at her watch. She'd only stay here half an hour and then –

She had the most wonderful dream, so different from the terrors she had experienced the night before. She dreamed she was at home, only it was a home she couldn't remember, because her mother and her father were there, giving her goodnight hugs as she made ready for bed.

'Mum? What do I do if I have the nightmare again?'

'It'll be all right, Evanna.' A warm kiss was planted tenderly on her forehead … her  _scarless_  forehead. 'Just remember that no matter what happens, your father and I will always be here to protect you.'

 _No. You're not. You died for me, and now you're gone. I hardly even remember you. Don't say you'll always be here when you left. All I've got to remember you by is a handful of Aunt Petunia's Muggle photos and a stupid scar that tells me every single day that I don't have any parents. I need_ you _._

But then she drifted into a dreamless sleep.

She awoke with a start, feeling oddly well-rested (maybe it came from sleeping in a tree) and quickly checked her watch. It was just past six, and the sun was higher in the sky, so she decided to get inside before anybody inside the dormitory chanced to wake early and miss her.

As if sensing her wish, the Willow carefully lowered its branches until the nest was close enough to the ground for Evanna to clamber out. Not really knowing what else to do, she gave the branches an awkward pat and whispered 'Thank you' softly, and was sure she felt the tree give a slight shiver in acknowledgment.

She made her way up to the castle, thinking about the dream, and was so out of it as she went into the Entrance Hall that she didn't notice the inordinate amount of noise coming from the adjoining Great Hall. She thought briefly of going there, but changed her mind – today, of all days, she just wanted to be left alone. She headed for the Slytherin common room, but, having only been living in Hogwarts for two months, managed to get herself lost. Evanna had just passed by a rather nervous-looking Professor Quirrell (he gave her a strange look when she wished him a good morning) and thought she finally knew where she was when she realised that she looked a mess (who wouldn't, after sleeping in a tree, of all places). She ducked into the nearest girls' bathroom, took one look in the mirror above the row of sinks and started picking the leaves out of her wild hair. She didn't even recall brushing it when she'd gotten up. No  _wonder_  Professor Quirrell had looked at her strangely.

Evanna neatened her hair as well as she could by running her fingers through it and washed her face before deeming herself presentable. She was just about to turn and leave when a really horrible smell reached her nose, almost making her gag. She looked in the mirror in front of her, and then froze as she saw a twelve-foot mountain troll blocking the only way out of the bathroom.

 _Don't panic don't panic don't panic don't panic_  was all she could think as the troll spotted her and headed for her, swinging a heavy wooden club menacingly. Then it brought the club in a large arc, destroying half the sinks and narrowly missing Evanna, who had ducked instinctively. Then there was a piercing shriek from behind her as Hermione Granger emerged from one of the toilet stalls and found herself face-to-face with a troll. Even in all the excitement, Evanna didn't miss the red eyes and dried tears on the Gryffindor's face.

'We need to distract it,' Evanna yelled at Granger, who looked incapable of anything but screaming or fainting right then. Desperately, Evanna grabbed a broken brick and threw it past the troll. She briefly debated on whether to take out her wand and try something, but she didn't know any helpful spells and the troll might end up snapping her wand.

Hearing the noise, the troll turned away, which gave Evanna just enough time to run over the scattered debris in the bathroom to Granger. Grabbing the petrified girl's hand, she cried, 'Come  _on_ , let's go!'

Granger was still frozen from fright and Evanna had to practically drag her across the room, hoping against hope the troll wouldn't turn and spot them.

It didn't work.

The troll moved around slowly to face them just as they were at the worst possible place – right behind its back and flat against the wall (Granger screamed, right in Evanna's ear). Evanna stumbled backwards, pushing Granger with her, but she just wasn't fast enough. The troll swung its club straight at her and caught her hard in the stomach, sending her flying across the bathroom, where she struck her head against a bit of sink and crumpled into a corner, too dizzy and injured to move. Dazedly, she could see blood spreading out from her chest and midriff, soaking her robes even as she heard Granger's horrified shriek. It hurt to breathe. She couldn't do anything as the troll lumbered over to her and picked her up by one leg, dangling her upside-down and making her body explode with pain. The troll made ready to strike with the club in its other hand and Evanna, finding herself unable to move, did the only thing possible: she screamed and screamed and screamed. The bathroom was getting blurrier and blurrier as she fought to stay conscious. She could barely make out Granger, who was watching her helplessly, horror and pain written all over her face. Then suddenly the troll dropped her in a mess of smashed sinks and broken glass, just after two – no, three – voices yelled something. The troll fell to the floor with a heavy  _thud_ , shaking the whole bathroom. Dimly Evanna registered footsteps hurrying towards her, and several gasps.

'Miss Granger, are you injured?'

'I'm fine, Professor, but Potter got hurt badly.'

There was a small shriek and someone was kneeling beside her.

'Miss Potter! Can you hear me?' a voice called urgently.

Evanna wanted more than anything to answer, but her screaming had used up all the air in her lungs, and she couldn't even find the strength to nod. Several other voices joined in and she felt a slight wave of magic wash over her as somebody performed a spell.

'Severus, she's not breathing!'

There was the sound of a rather vulgar curse ( _'Severus!'_ ) and somebody started casting spells on her ... frantically, it seemed.  _'Anapneo … Patet Spirandi …'_

'Miss Granger, please go fetch Madam Pomfrey. Hurry!'

She couldn't hear anymore. She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. That was all she was really aware of as she fainted and the bathroom, the unconscious troll, Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell faded from view entirely.

* * *

'… How could Dumbledore let this happen? He told us that they would be perfectly safe at Hogwarts, and barely two months later, my only niece almost gets killed by a troll! If Dumbledore can't even stop great big mountain trolls from entering the castle, who's going to say he can't stop far more dangerous things from getting in?'

'Mrs Dursley, please calm yourself! I cannot have you upsetting my patient!'

'Mum. Mum. It'll be all right. Cat's going to be fine.'

'But that's not the point right now! Your father and I trusted Professor Dumbledore with you and Evanna, and now that trust has blown up in our faces! If this what it's going to be like for you two to attend Hogwarts, then – then I don't want you to go!'

' _Mum._  You're overreacting. I love Hogwarts; you can't take me out! I mean, Cat and I are always going to belong to the wizarding world, no matter what – Cat especially. You can't be serious about making us leave!'

_What?_

Evanna opened her eyes, blinking blearily. She appeared to be in the hospital wing. Aunt Petunia and Dudley were sitting on either side of her bed, arguing. Dudley saw her first.

'Cat!' he cried, a grin of relief lighting up his alarmingly pale face. 'You're awake!'

It hurt to swallow. Evanna smiled faintly instead. Aunt Petunia hugged her, then, as Madam Pomfrey came hurrying over.

'Ah, you're with us again, Miss Potter, I see,' she said briskly as she did some basic spells on Evanna. 'You've had us all very worried – you've been unconscious for five days.'

'Five …  _days_?' Evanna gasped out, appalled.

Madam Pomfrey nodded. 'Today is the fifth of November. How do you feel?'

'A bit … sore …'

Madam Pomfrey cast another spell and Evanna breathed easier. Her ribs didn't hurt so much anymore, they just felt a little … tender. But she couldn't say anything. The walls of blackness were dragging her back, and she couldn't resist them.

* * *

When Evanna next awoke, Tracey and Daphne were there instead.

'How're you doing, Cat?' Tracey said cheerfully, seeing Evanna's open eyes. 'You missed the first Quidditch match of the season, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, did you know?'

Evanna made a face, feeling much better than the last time she had awoken. 'You know I don't care for Quidditch.'

'Yeah, well, that's a pity, 'cause Slytherin flattened Gryffindor,' Tracey said smugly. She leaned closer to the bed. 'Speaking of things you missed, where were you all Hallowe'en?'

'I … _what_?'

'You were missing all of Hallowe'en,' Daphne interjected impatiently. 'You were gone when we got up, and you weren't at breakfast,  _or_  lunch,  _or_  dinner,  _or_  any of the classes, and nobody saw you until you met Granger in the girls' loo, and that was during the Hallowe'en feast. Where  _were_  you?'

 _Huh?_  Then something clicked and Evanna sat up abruptly, gripping her hair in her hands as realisation washed over her. How could she not have noticed? 'I'm so  _stupid_!'

'What?' Tracey said urgently, her sharp blue eyes looking into Evanna's vivid green ones. 'What happened? What's wrong?'

Evanna buried her head in her knees, cheeks burning. 'I got up really early,' she recited shamefacedly, 'because I had bad dreams and couldn't get back to sleep. I wasn't hungry either, so I just went for a walk outside on the grounds and sort of wandered until I came to this big willow tree and –' Evanna mentally shook her head. This was going to sound  _really_  weird. 'I was really tired and the tree sort of looked like it was … reaching out to me, so I kind of … went to sleep in it.'

'You fell asleep in a  _tree_?' Tracey stared. Evanna nodded.

'Wait, so where was this tree? The Forbidden Forest?'

'No, it was just this huge willow tree, standing by itself on the edge of the grounds.'

Both girls looked at each other, and Evanna could see the comprehension dawning in their faces.

'You mean –' began Tracey, looking thunderstruck, but Daphne cut her off.

'That's impossible,' she stated flatly.

'Why?' demanded Evanna, miffed.

'Because that's the Whomping Willow,' retorted Daphne, with the air of explaining that two and two are four to a stubborn five-year-old. 'It's a really vicious tree that tries to kill anybody who comes near it. There's a description in  _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_  if you'd bothered to look.'

Evanna said nothing, but Daphne gave her an exasperated look and continued. 'So, let me guess: you fell asleep in a  _tree_ , and the Whomping Willow, no less, and then slept the day away without realising it, because when you woke up the sun was setting, whereas when you got up the sun was still rising. And then you didn't think anything was unusual when you got back indoors, because nobody was around. And then you went into the bathroom to tidy yourself up, probably, and that's when you met the troll and Granger. Well?' she demanded, as Evanna didn't say a word. 'I'm right, aren't I?'

Evanna nodded, totally blown away by Daphne's accurate deductions. Tracey was howling with laughter.

Daphne gave Evanna a withering look, her brown eyes scornful.

'That's the stupidest way to spend Hallowe'en I've ever heard of,' she said bluntly.

Evanna could only laugh.


	11. Sinister Dreams and Suspicious Draughts

The first dream came that night, while Evanna was still in the hospital wing. There were no pictures, only voices, and that was what unnerved Evanna the most.

 _'You_ fool _!'_

_'My Lord, please! I did not know where the Potter girl was, and even if I did, I could not have prevented what was happening. It would have looked too suspicious.'_

_'Nevertheless, my temper is extremely short. Lily Potter could have been killed, and we can't have that, now … can we?'_

_'No, my Lord.'_

_'But my time draws near, Quirrell! Make haste, or are you really the incompetent buffoon all the other professors perceive you to be?'_

_'No, my Lord … I will hurry, I promise …'_

_'See that you do. I do not have all the time in the world. Lord Voldemort is never … was never patient. And remember my orders, Quirrell, or it will be your head when I return to power. The child must be captured but not killed.'_

Evanna awoke with a sudden gasp, rolled over and tried to thrust the brief nightmare out of her mind.

* * *

It was another day before Madam Pomfrey would let Evanna out of the hospital wing, much to Evanna's annoyance. By the time she would be able to attend classes again, she would have missed at least a week's worth of classes, including Hallowe'en.

Hermione Granger visited Evanna in the hospital wing, to the latter's surprise and disappointment. She had rather hoped that the Gryffindor wouldn't feel the need to discuss recent events. Unfortunately, that was not the case.

'How're you feeling, Potter?' Granger asked, upon arriving unexpectedly in the hospital wing after lunch that day (it happened to be a Friday, so there were no classes after lunch). Evanna scowled.

'I'm perfectly fine, but for some reason Madam Pomfrey insists on my being treated like I'm made of glass. How was double Potions?'

Granger's face lit up. Evanna wasn't sure if she considered the other girl a  _f_ _riend_  yet, but she knew one thing at least for certain: Granger sure was enthusiastic about school.

'We made the Forgetfulness Potion,' Granger explained eagerly. 'Oh, and at the start of the lesson Professor Snape told us about Polyjuice Potion – a potion that allows the drinker to transform into somebody else for one hour, you know.'

'That's interesting,' Evanna said slyly, thinking quickly. 'And the best thing about that potion is that if the person taking the potion is a good enough actor, then they all they have to do would be to make sure they kept drinking the potion every hour, at least.' Sure she didn't  _like_  the practical side of Potions, but there was no denying it had its uses.

'They'd have to keep the real person out of the way, too,' Granger added helpfully, playing right into Evanna's hands.

Evanna nodded. Then she added, in a quieter tone, 'I don't think it would be very hard to impersonate you. But to check if someone's impersonating someone you know, you should get them to tell you something only they would know.' Here Evanna paused and waited expectantly.

'Sorry?' Granger asked, confused.

Evanna tried not to roll her eyes. 'I'm asking you to tell me something I know that only you would know. Just for practice,' she added reassuringly.

Granger relaxed, and thought, while Evanna held her breath. Then Granger snapped her fingers.

'Got it,' she said triumphantly. 'All right … I know you're a Parselmouth.'

Evanna arranged her face into a mirror of surprise. 'How did you know?'

'I heard you,' Granger went on, 'in the zoo in Surrey, back in June, talking to a Brazilian boa constrictor. Only it didn't sound like  _talking_  at all, but this weird hissing.'

'Did you tell anyone?' Evanna demanded.

'Of course not – what do you take me for? I've read about the horrible reputation Parselmouths have. Besides, it's not my secret to tell.'

Evanna felt a rush of affection and respect for Granger, along with some relief.

'Now that I know you know about me, can I ask you something?' she asked politely – it always paid to have good manners.

Granger nodded, albeit a little hesitantly.

'Why were you crying in the girls' bathroom on Hallowe'en, when everybody else was at the feast?'

Granger gaped at her, prominent front teeth showing. 'H-how could you tell?'

This time Evanna really did roll her eyes. 'It didn't take a genius, Granger,' she said truthfully. 'But what was wrong? Did Draco Malfoy or somebody upset you?'

'It … it wasn't Malfoy,' Granger said hesitantly, her eyes threatening to leak tears. 'It was Ron Weasley. Professor Flitwick made us partners in Charms, and he – Ron – got annoyed at me because I corrected his pronunciation of the Hover Charm, and then he got even _more_  annoyed when I showed him how it was done, even though Professor Flitwick awarded me five points. And  _then_ , after class, he was complaining to your cousin about me and calling me a show-off.' She sat up very suddenly and leaned away from Evanna slightly. 'I don't know why I'm telling you this,' she whispered.

'Because I'm a Slytherin?' Evanna guessed.

Granger nodded. 'I suppose you'd already know, but nobody really seems to like Slytherins, especially people in Gryffindor. Some of the boys were even scared stiff they'd end up in Slytherin instead of Gryffindor like the rest of their family. And the way people go on about House rivalries is just ridiculous,  _I_  think.'

'Tell you what, Granger,' Evanna said, having just received a brainwave, 'I basically grew up with Muggles, too, so I think all that stuff's pointless as well. Let's just be friends, and not care about what anybody says.'

Granger's eyes widened. 'I could do that,' she said eagerly. 'As long as you stop calling me Granger. It's  _Hermione_.'

Evanna shrugged. 'Then you call me' – she hesitated for a fraction of a second – 'Cat. That's what my friends know me as.'

'How come?' Hermione asked curiously.

Evanna recounted the story she had told Tracey, and had also repeated later to Daphne. Hermione was shocked for a moment and looked on the verge of telling Evanna off, but restrained herself.

'… but if you don't want to call me Cat, then say Evanna instead. Just don't use my first name.'

'Why not?' Hermione pressed.

'It's personal,' Evanna said stiffly. Hermione took the hint and dropped the subject, much to Evanna's relief.

* * *

Just because Hermione and Evanna were friends didn't mean that Hermione got on well with Tracey and Daphne. Tracey took the new addition to their little gang in relatively good humour, the way she took just about everything, but the dramatic Daphne got into an argument with Hermione barely ten minutes after Evanna introduced them to each other in the library on Saturday. Daphne 'accidentally' let slip (a rather cunning little test, Evanna thought) that hundreds of house-elves worked at Hogwarts for no pay, causing Hermione to label the aforesaid practice 'disgusting' and 'barbaric', whereupon Daphne retorted, truthfully enough (while Tracey and Evanna exchanged exasperated, how-long-is-this-going-to-go-on-for looks), that house-elves  _liked_  working for wizards, and if she didn't believe her, why, then she could just come down to the kitchens and see for herself!

'But that's not  _allowed_!' Hermione protested – and though it had never  _explicitly_  been stated that they couldn't go there, she was most likely right.

'The elves won't tell on us, and nobody else need know,' Daphne informed her coolly. Hermione got rather annoyed after that, and she and Daphne had a rather heated debate which came to an abrupt but overdue end when Madam Pince stalked over to the four of them, livid, and threw them all out of the library (for making an inordinate amount of noise, she claimed).

Daphne, quietly triumphant, led them all to a portrait of a fruit bowl, tickled the pear (which let out a little giggle) and the picture swung open to reveal the Hogwarts kitchens, filled to the brim with creatures which were undoubtedly house-elves.

Hermione was (predictably) outraged.

'Why, that's – that's  _slavery_!' she cried indignantly. 'Making those poor little things work so hard for no pay! Why doesn't Dumbledore put a stop to this?'

'Because, Hermione,' Daphne said calmly, 'this kind of stuff is  _normal_  for our world. House-elves  _like_  being slaves; it's in their nature. Freeing a house-elf is like snapping a wizard's wand. It's their livelihood.'

'How do you free an elf?' Hermione asked virtuously, a sudden gleam in her eyes. That was something Evanna had been wondering as well.

'You present them with clothes,' Tracey answered, 'but don't let that give you ideas. They won't thank you for it; they'll probably drown themselves or something.'

Hermione was horrified, but kept silent as they left the kitchens.

* * *

'So, any updates on Professor Quirrell?' Hermione asked, once the four of them were together at dinner one evening (Hermione was sitting at the Slytherin table). As she was a Gryffindor while the other three in their little clique were Slytherins, they only shared two classes, and communicating news was hence very slow at times.

'Just the same as always,' Daphne answered, shooting a dirty look at Evanna, who was currently hiding behind  _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_. 'Cat's still getting headaches in Defence, but she's too stubborn to let us tell anybody.'

Hermione looked irritated. 'Anything else?'

'You've got to agree something strange is going on,' Tracey said, lowering her voice. 'Last night Cat woke up half the girls' dormitory screaming at the top of her lungs from a nightmare.'

Hermione snatched  _The Dark Forces_  out of Evanna's unprepared grip and held it high, out of her reach. 'What was the nightmare about, Cat?' she demanded.

'Nothing serious,' Evanna muttered, the heat rising into her cheeks. To steady herself, she took a long, slow draught of pumpkin juice. Somehow it didn't seen to help at all. 'I don't want to talk about it, OK?' That, at least, was the truth.

'How do you know? Maybe it  _was_  something important, something connected to your headaches in Defence. Why won't you tell us?'

Evanna gave the three girls a weary look and considered before saying, 'Because I see what happened the night my parents died.' Without excusing herself, she stood up and left the Great Hall before anyone could follow her.

* * *

 

'Cat, I'm really, really sorry,' Hermione said afterwards, once Hermione, Tracey and Daphne had found Evanna huddled in a corner of the girls' bathroom. 'I shouldn't have made you tell something so private. Are – are you OK?'

Evanna didn't want to answer. She could see her mother in front of her, screaming, pleading, the blonde baby with her mother's eyes in the cot behind her. But then Evanna raised her wand – cast a curse – and the redheaded woman fell to the floor …

'… Cat?'

 _No. No. No._  Her breath was starting to hitch now; the air came in thick gasps.  _I didn't … I couldn't have … I didn't mean to … but I killed her …_

'Cat?' Now even Daphne was getting seriously alarmed. 'Cat, say something!'

She couldn't, could only watch as the scene played out in front of her eyes.

_'Lily! Take her and run! Go! I'll hold him off –'_

_High pitched, maniacal laughter …_

'Avada Kedavra!'

 _'_ _No … no … no …'_

'I killed them,' Evanna whispered. She had to say the truth; she couldn't let it slip by, no matter what they thought of her. 'I killed them … I didn't mean to … but I killed them …'

'Cat? What are you talking about? Listen, you're not feeling well, you've got to come with us to the hospital wing …'

'That wouldn't do anything,' Evanna muttered, tears spilling out of her eyes, but she hadn't even noticed she was crying. 'It wouldn't make any difference … they're already dead …  _I_  killed them …'

A door banged open and somebody swore. 'What's going on here?'

'Evanna's having a breakdown or something,' came Hermione's voice. 'I don't know what's been going on, but we need to take her to the hospital wing.'

There was a soft sigh. 'All right, there's a very easy way to do this.  _Stupefy!_ '

* * *

'… rather unusual circumstances for an eleven-year-old to be in. Has Miss Potter been behaving oddly lately, any of you?'

'She's been having nightmares ever since Hallowe'en. I'm not sure if she wants you to know about this, but … they're about the night her parents died.'

There was a sharp intake of breath. 'Well, Severus, did you find out anything?'

'This, Madam Pomfrey. Her goblet of pumpkin juice at dinner. It contains unmistakable traces of a powerful Draught to Induce Hysteria.'

'But …' The matron seemed to be struggling for words. 'Who would do that – such a difficult and dangerous potion! Severus, do you have the antidote?'

'Fortunately, I brought some along with me after I tested her goblet. It will need to be administered immediately, while Miss Potter is conscious.'

'Yes, yes, of course,' murmured Madam Pomfrey quickly. 'Unfortunately Miss Farley saw to it that Miss Potter was Stunned before bringing her here.'

The sound of muffled voices moving closer to her, and then Professor Snape's voice was the first thing Evanna heard as she woke from the depths of the Stunning Spell:  _'Rennervate!'_

She opened her eyes.

She was lying sprawled on a hospital-wing-bed, her robes in disarray and dried tears stiff on her cheeks. As soon as she caught wind of what was going on, she sat up and drew her legs to her chest protectively, her eyes betraying her even in her drugged state. 'No … go away … you can't help … they're  _gone_  …'

She saw Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape exchange resigned, determined looks. Then Snape moved forwards quickly, grabbed her chin, tilting it up, forced her jaw down, and poured a entire gobletful of potion down her throat.

She coughed and gagged, potion spilling down her chin, eyes watering, but reflexes kicked in and she swallowed, blinking.

Suddenly things were a lot clearer, but she didn't have a clue what had been going on. Madam Pomfrey and Snape were standing beside her bed, with Tracey, Daphne and Hermione hovering uncomfortably in the background.

'Well, Miss Potter, welcome back,' Madam Pomfrey said, but there was a confusing, unfamiliar side to her voice – sympathetic, almost pitying – that Evanna couldn't place.


	12. Under Spotlight and Scrutiny

'Can you tell me what happened?' Evanna asked Tracey and Daphne later, in a secluded corner of the common room. Seraphine bounded up onto her lap and Evanna rubbed her ebony fur absently. ' 'Cause I don't remember much – only that I ended up in the hospital wing again.'

'What do you remember?' Tracey asked.

Evanna thought back. 'Eating dinner with you and Hermione. The rest is of kind of blurred and mixed-up.'

'Well, we heard Snape telling Madam Pomfrey that someone spiked your dinner pumpkin juice with a powerful Draught to Induce Hysteria,' Tracey began.

'And we saw you drinking some after Hermione started badgering you about your nightmares,' Daphne continued. 'Then you told us what your nightmares were about and ran away to the bathroom.'

'You were just huddled on the floor, more miserable than Moaning Myrtle when we found you,' Tracey recounted quietly. 'You didn't respond to anything we said, and were just mumbling something under your breath. Then Gemma Farley came in, heard Hermione's explanation and Stunned and levitated you to the hospital wing.'

'You were really out of it,' Daphne said sharply. ' _Now_  you can't deny somebody's out to get you. Your juice was spiked, but no one else's.'

'I suppose,' conceded Evanna doubtfully, thinking. But why would somebody drug  _her_?

'Do they know who it was? Who drugged me, I mean.'

'No,' said Tracey quickly. 'Snape said it was unlikely a student could have prepared such a difficult potion correctly or without help, but other than that, anybody in Hogwarts from a Gryffindor to Professor Dumbledore could have done it.' Her tone sounded regretful. Tracey, Evanna had noticed, was very inclined to believe the best of people – even to unrealistic proportions.

'Well,  _I_  think it's Professor Quirrell,' Daphne said smugly, and when the other two stared at her, defended her argument by saying, 'When do you get all these headaches, Cat? During Defence – Quirrell's class. And it's a perfect disguise – stuttering, incompetent professor scared of his own shadow and almost faints at the sight of a troll – who'd think he was trying to kill off the Girl Who Lived? Speaking of trolls, he probably let the one on Hallowe'en into the castle as well.'

Evanna considered. She dimly remembered passing Quirrell on her way to the girls' bathroom on Hallowe'en evening. He had been very nervous when he saw her, and had given her an odd look. At first she had thought it was because of her dishevelled appearance; in hindsight she thought it was because she had greeted him with 'good morning', but now, thinking about it, Daphne could be right; Quirrell could be out to get her. If only there was a way to know for sure … She'd have to ask Hermione and Dudley what they thought.

* * *

Hermione bit her lip. 'I don't know, Cat ... he  _is_  a teacher ...'

'It wasn't my idea, it was Daphne's,' Evanna reminded her.

'Being a teacher would be a perfect disguise,' Daphne argued stubbornly. 'No one would suspect him.'

'We should tell somebody … Professor Dumbledore … your aunt and uncle …' Hermione began worriedly, but Evanna cut her off.

'Do you know what my aunt is like, Hermione? She almost pulled me out of Hogwarts after the thing with the troll on Hallowe'en! I think we should get a bit more evidence and then tell someone like Professor Snape.'

'Why Snape?' Dudley demanded. Evanna knew what he was thinking. Snape, though barely cordial to members of his own house, was much worse to other students, and Gryffindors in particular.

'He's Head of House,' Evanna told him. 'And I'd rather tell him than Dumbledore.' That was true too. She hadn't forgotten what Aunt Petunia had told her on September the first, just before she boarded the Hogwarts Express, after all.

Tracey had been silent through the entire exchange, which was typical of her. She never liked to suspect people of anything other than goodwill, Evanna realised – unlike the darkly cynical Daphne. Evanna had wondered why Daphne had such a dark worldview – it was possible, of course, that it was simply in her nature, but Evanna had the sneaking suspicion it was something more.

* * *

The Saturday before the Christmas holidays was the day Evanna found the Mirror – and it was a day she never, ever forgot.

She wasn't quite sure how she'd gotten to the room in the first place. She had been wandering around restlessly on the seventh floor (Hermione was in the library, Tracey was in the common room and Daphne was writing a letter home in some secluded area on the grounds) when Peeves came up on her quite suddenly, cackling madly, and shoved snow down her the back of her robes and then, while she let out a scream of surprise and frustration, showered her with what seemed like bucketloads of more snow.

'What's the matter, Potty?' Peeves screeched, tumbling round and round Evanna, who was writhing at the unpleasant sensation of wet, melting snow dripping slowly down her back and drenching her shirt. 'Too cold for the little Slytherin? What about Filchy, he'll warm you up!' And then, to Evanna's horror, he bellowed at the top of his voice: 'FILCH! MESS IN THE CORRIDORS! MESS ON THE SEVENTH FLOOR!' Then Evanna spied the ever-inquisitive cat of Filch's, Mrs Norris, putting around the corner with a smug, self-satisfied look on her face.

Forgetting about the icily cold water that seemed to be dripping into her sleeves, Evanna ran. Peeves didn't help matters, either, by pelting her with even  _more_  snowballs (where was he  _getting_  it all from – the Weasley twins?) as she went.

 _I need somewhere to hide,_  she thought desperately, scanning the walls in the hopes of finding a secret passageway, a hidden room, a door that only opened when its opener was in dire straits …  _anything_.

And then there was a door. Evanna twisted the gold knob and nearly fell inside the room behind it, but managed to shut the door quickly before she took notice of her surroundings.

She was in a huge, high-ceilinged room filled with literally thousands of odds and ends – discarded books; furniture; packs of Exploding Snap; bottles of something called Firewhisky; cartons of hopelessly old-fashioned dress robes; a list of all the times the Chudley Cannons had won Quidditch matches since 1892 (it was extremely brief); a tarnished tiara; a jar of bluebell flames; a couple of dirty magazines Madam Pince would definitely  _not_  have approved of … the list was endless. The room gave her a slight feeling of  _d_ _é_ _j_ _à_ _vu_ , like she'd been there before, but that was impossible. But when she saw the Mirror her breath caught in her throat – not because of the Mirror itself, but rather what she saw in it.

There she stood – damp, dishevelled and panting slightly from running – and surrounded by a whole group of other people. She could even spot Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley standing on one side of the crowd, just standing and smiling. But directly behind Evanna's reflection were two people with sad sort of smiles on their faces. The man was tall, with messy black hair and roguish hazel eyes, but the woman was what made Evanna gasp, for she was the very same girl Evanna had seen in Aunt Petunia's photo albums, all grown up now, but with the same long dark red hair and green eyes that were identical to Evanna's own. She was smiling wider than any of the others, and one of her arms was around the Evanna in the Mirror.

At first, Evanna couldn't take her eyes off the images, but then common sense took hold and she stumbled backwards, breathing heavily even as the tears sprang to her eyes. It  _wasn't_  real! It was a trick, it  _had_  to be – an evil Mirror designed to send somebody mad! Was that a curse, those words written in an old-fashioned hand above the top of the Mirror? All of a sudden she hated it all: the tragically beautiful Mirror, the way it made her lose control, even the pictures of her family. No! Half-laughing at the absurdity of it all, half-sobbing wildly, she drew back her left arm and punched the Mirror as hard as she could, ignoring the sympathetic, sorry look Mirror-Aunt Petunia was giving her. Whether it was because the Mirror was simply very strong, or because it had been reinforced and protected with magic, Evanna did not know, and she cared even less. But it did not so much as move when her fist connected with it, and her knuckles came away bloody from the impact.

The pain and the sight of the vivid redness seeping across the back of get hand and between her fingers brought her back to earth with a dull thud, and for a moment she just stood there, shaking uncontrollably, and watching the blood spread slowly. She didn't want to look up – she couldn't look up and see what – what was in that cursed Mirror. Forgetting completely how and why she had come into the mysterious room in the first place, she found her way back to the door and left it, only to walk headlong into Dudley when she rounded the corner.

'Oh, sorry, Cat,' Dudley said quickly, pulling her to her feet, as she'd gotten knocked over backwards. Then he got a good look at her tear-stained face, and his expression darkened. 'Cat, what's wrong? Are you OK?'

'What? I'm fine,' Evanna said automatically, trying to duck around her cousin. 'I just, er, hurt my hand.' Which was quite obviously true, but was not the reason she had been crying.

Dudley surveyed her bloody left hand, and winced. 'Looks like you punched something,' he said jokingly, unaware of how true his statement was. 'Well, come  _on_ , let's go to the hospital wing and get Madam Pomfrey to fix you up.'

'No! I'm fine, Dudley, just go,' Evanna protested, annoyed. Suppose Madam Pomfrey would be able to tell what had happened?

'Don't be an idiot, Cat, you're bleeding!' Dudley said angrily, grabbing his cousin's arm and attempting to drag her down the corridor. Evanna, whose nerves were already frayed from seeing the Mirror, lost her head and twisted wildly in a vain attempt to get Dudley to let go. 'I said, leave me ALONE!'

There was a terrific blast of magic and Dudley was thrown twenty metres backwards to crash into the end of the corridor just as a voice from behind Evanna snapped,  _'What is going on here?'_

Evanna, horrified, spun around to see a deeply annoyed Professor McGonagall standing behind her, arms crossed. 'Don't think I didn't see that, Miss Potter,' she said, before Evanna could open her mouth. 'Magic is not allowed in the corridors. Twenty points from Slytherin, and stay where you are. Mr Dursley, are you all right?'

Evanna just stood there, stunned, even as Professor McGonagall hurried over to Dudley, who was slowly getting to his feet, rubbing his head and back, and called a red-haired prefect who happened to be passing to take him to the hospital wing. But Evanna was enveloped in numb disbelief. Professor McGonagall thought she had  _attacked_  Dudley … on purpose! And what had she done? It was frighteningly like the incident with Peeves, only this time she had really hurt somebody. It was definitely her, she knew – nobody else could have done it. But the most scary thing was that she couldn't control it – that any time when she was angry, magic would just explode out of her, uncontrollable and dangerous.

She was barely paying attention when Professor McGonagall curtly told her to follow her, and led the way down, down, down what seemed like hundreds of staircases to finally end up at Professor Snape's dungeon.

Snape was inside, irritably marking some Potions essays, but he Banished them when Professor McGonagall and Evanna entered. Professor McGonagall explained the situation in the barest of words before leaving, while Evanna stared at rows and rows of potion ingredients (some of which looked very nasty indeed) and tried to guess what they might be. She was very good at Potions, though she disliked it, and had been very glad when Snape hadn't made her take private lessons with him after that exhausting first Friday. She didn't need more on her plate – especially now.

 _'So,'_  said Snape, very slowly, managing to make Evanna feel both uncomfortable and very like the snake she met in the zoo back in June must have felt: under spotlight and scrutiny. 'Explain yourself,' he ordered.

'It – it was an accident,' Evanna tried. 'I didn't even have my wand out – and I would  _never_  have cursed Dudley.'

'That is of no importance,' Snape said sharply, cutting off her claims dismissively. 'You need to learn to control your magic, Miss Potter, or you will not get  _anywhere_  in this world.' His black eyes bored into hers.  _'Do you understand?'_

'I … yes, Professor,' Evanna acquiesed, feeling it would be pointless to argue with Snape. But Dudley knew the truth … he would vouch for her.

Snape scrutinised her carefully. 'Double detention tonight at eight, my office,' he said at last. 'You will have ample time to think about your actions while you scrub cauldron bottoms. Now leave.'

Evanna left, inwardly seething. Of  _course_  he'd give her detention – it was common knowledge in Slytherin that Snape very much preferred to hand out detentions to members of his own House rather than take off points. But the injustice rankled deeply. He'd given her double detention for something she couldn't help, with the not-very-subtle threat that if she didn't control her magic, he'd keep the detentions coming. And what was she to do about the Mirror, she thought dully as she made her way to the hospital wing to see Dudley, having forgotten all about the now-dried blood on her hand. Maybe she'd ask the house-elves after Christmas – out of Hermione's hearing, of course.


	13. A Mostly Muggle Christmas

After the recent dramatic events and a long night of scrubbing cauldron bottoms under Snape's critical eye, Evanna felt very glad to be heading back to Privet Drive. She, Daphne, Tracey and Hermione managed to snag a compartment all to themselves on the train home for Christmas. Only Tracey and Hermione seemed to be their usual selves – Evanna was thinking about the events of yesterday, and Daphne was staring moodily out of the window, her mind dwelling on who knew what. Hermione was reading an enormous extracurricular book called  _Hogwarts: A History_ , by Bathilda Bagshot – never mind that it was the holidays. Sighing, Evanna excused herself to find Dudley.

He was sitting in a compartment down the end of the train, along with two other Gryffindor boys – Ron Weasley and the round-faced boy Evanna remembered had broken his wrist in their first Flying lesson. Dudley was playing wizard chess with Ron, and spun around so fast when Evanna entered that the chessboard got knocked onto the floor, sending the pieces (who were complaining loudly) scattering. He looked relieved when he saw Evanna.

'Oh, it's you, Cat,' he said, kneeling down to pick up the chessmen, which had managed to get into every corner of the tiny compartment. 'Nice timing, by the way – I was losing.'

Ron scowled, sitting up with three arguing rooks in his hand, but he ignored them. 'You always lose,' he said disdainfully. 'I keep _telling_  you, it's all about strategy. You can't just take random moves and count on intuition and dumb luck.'

Evanna giggled.

'Oh, shut up, Cat.' Now Dudley was the one scowling. Evanna flashed him a cheeky grin and sat down.

'Er – why do you call her "Cat"?' Ron asked, obviously bursting with curiosity, once he and Dudley had found all the chessmen and regained their seats.

'Family joke,' Dudley told him, and Ron looked visibly disappointed, but forgot about it quickly when the round-faced boy asked Evanna abruptly, 'What's it like in Slytherin?'

 _'Neville!'_  Dudley hissed.

Evanna looked at Neville, who promptly turned red.

'Why do you want to know?'

Neville shrugged. 'Everybody thought you'd end up in Gryffindor. My gr–– I mean, people didn't think you'd be in the same house as You-Know-Who.'

'What does that have to do with anything? Evanna asked, slightly defensively.

Neville shrugged, embarrassed. Evanna felt sorry for him. It was well known that he was terrible at Potions, and he seemed to be Snape's least favourite student. But if people were acting like this just because she was in Slytherin, just imagine what it would be like when they found out she was a Parselmouth.

'It's OK,' she said lightly, letting it go, and all three boys looked relieved. She turned to face Ron. 'I heard your family's going to Egypt for Christmas. How come you're not staying at Hogwarts with your brothers?'

Ron stared. 'Didn't you know? Dudley invited me to your place for the holidays.'

No, she obviously hadn't known.

'We heard about your drugging,' Ron said quickly, avoiding a potentially awkward situation with unusual tact. 'It's all over the school. Do they know who did it?'

Evanna noticed Dudley hadn't mentioned her accidental magic since she'd thrown him into a wall the day before. Maybe, knowing her cousin, he never would.

She shook her head. 'Only guesses and suspicions. Professor Snape isn't too happy – but I suppose you've noticed.'

Ron nodded grimly. Snape had been even fouler than usual to the Gryffindors lately – probably as a way of venting his frustration. But it made things hard for them, having to work extra hard to gain back points for their house.

'Speaking of Snape,' Dudley said, 'Ron thinks he's the one who's out to get you – you know, with the troll on Hallowe'en and the drugging.'

' _What?_  No way!'

'It makes sense,' Ron said stubbornly, sounding in that instance a lot like Daphne. 'My dad said he used to follow You-Know-Who during the last war, but turned spy for Dumbledore. Who knows – maybe he didn't really turn spy, but is still working for You-Know-Who. I bet he was the one who let the troll in on Hallowe'en. He's out to get you killed.'

Evanna pondered, silently disagreeing but holding her peace. 'But why would he bother to drug me? Why not just poison me and be done with it?'

Ron shrugged. 'Search me. Maybe it'd be too obvious it was him. I mean, he's the  _Potions_  master – you were drugged with a  _potion_  – it points to him. Maybe he drugged you so that he could sail in and  _save_  you by giving you the antidote – diverting suspicion off him in a little trick.'

'Pretty brainless trick, I think,' Evanna muttered. She could still remember quite clearly what memories the potion had forced her to relive – and they weren't pretty at all.

* * *

Dudley woke Evanna early on Christmas morning by barging into her room and jumping on her bed, the way he had done every Christmas since they were three. 'Get up, Cat, it's Christmas!'

'And a very Merry Christmas to you, too,' Evanna mumbled into her pillow. 'I  _know_  what day this is: the only day of the year you wake me up instead of the other way round.'

'Before Hogwarts, you mean,' Dudley corrected. 'Listen, Cat, get up – Mum's making breakfast, Dad and Ron are downstairs already and a phoenix just dropped off a Christmas present for you in the kitchen.'

 _'What?'_  Evanna cried, springing out of bed.

'That's what Dad said,' Dudley commented, as they went down the stairs to find Aunt Petunia cooking for a crowd, and Uncle Vernon and Ron employed in a fascinating conversation about the difference between the Muggle and wizarding worlds.

'You see, this is all really weird for me,' Ron was saying. 'My dad told me I could come here for Christmas on the condition I found out everything I could about Muggle stuff – you know, fellytones and tellyvisions and please-men and things like that. He's even got a collection of plugs – I think you put them in the wall and they let you use Muggle magic. Not quite sure how it works. Dad tried explaining it to me, but not everybody's obsessed about stuff like  _that_.'

'Merry Christmas, Evanna,' called Aunt Petunia cheerfully from the kitchen. 'A present came for you just a few minutes ago – and delivered by a phoenix.'

Evanna found the soft package, wrapped in rather plain brown paper, on the kitchen table, slightly warm. She tore off the paper, shook it and a silvery cloak fell out, slithering onto the table like water. Evanna caught it up and tried it on, pulling it over her head as Dudley came into the room, obeying Aunt Petunia's summons.

'Hey Mum, need any help?' He glanced at the table, at the torn brown paper. 'Where'd Cat go?'

'Yes, you can set the table … and I don't know where she is, she was here a second ago,' Aunt Petunia answered, turning off the stove and putting the food on the table, just as Evanna cried indignantly, 'I'm right  _here_!' Was Dudley ignoring her on purpose? He'd never done  _that_  before.

Dudley jumped about a foot in the air.

_'Where?'_

'Here,' said Evanna, realising something. She pulled the cloak off, and Dudley stared.

'But I saw you – I mean I  _didn't_  – you were  _invisible_ , Cat!'

'Really?' Evanna muttered vaguely, and a touch sarcastically, folding up the cloak as Dudley asked eagerly, 'Is that the present the phoenix brought? Who gave it to you?'

Evanna checked the cast-off brown paper. A note was lying underneath. She caught it up. It read, in a thin, curiously familiar hand:

> _Your father left this to me before he died. It is time it was returned to you._
> 
> _Use it well._
> 
> _A very Merry Christmas to you._

Aunt Petunia came and looked over Evanna's shoulder to read the note as Uncle Vernon and Ron came into the kitchen, sat down and began helping themselves to breakfast. 'That's Professor Dumbledore's handwriting,' she commented, sounding puzzled.

Evanna thought this was odd too. Why would her dad lend Dumbledore his cloak? And, more importantly, why hadn't Dumbledore given Evanna it before now?

* * *

After a quick breakfast they set to attacking the piles of presents under the Christmas tree. When they were done, Evanna ended up with a copy of a very large book called  _Serpent-Tongue: A Comprehensive History of Parseltongue and its Speakers_ , courtesy of Hermione (who else?); a bag of Chocolate Frogs and a magically protected diary from Tracey; a book about old wizarding families from Daphne; a silvery necklace with green gemstones and protective magical properties from Dudley (Evanna assumed he had mail-ordered it from Diagon Alley), and some parchment (charmed against tearing and spillage) and an inkwell of Colour-Changing Ink from Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.

* * *

After lunch, Petunia reminded herself of her self-made promise and once everything had been cleaned up, she ushered her niece outside for a little chat while Uncle Vernon slept on the sofa inside and Dudley and Ron engaged in a loud, raucous and thoroughly Muggle snowball fight on the white lawn.

'So how was Hogwarts, Evanna?' Petunia asked cheerfully, sitting down on the front steps of Number Four. Evanna looked uncomfortable, at least to Petunia.

'Um, OK, I guess,' she mumbled, staring at the immaculately painted white steps they were sitting on.

'What's your favourite class?'

Evanna perked up slightly. 'I don't know. Probably Flying.'

'I heard you're really good at flying,' Petunia commented. 'Well, you must be good if Professor Snape would have let you on the house team.' That reminded her of something. 'Evanna, did I ever tell you about Professor Snape?'

She shook her head.

'Professor Snape was your mother's best friend when they were younger,' Petunia said, reminiscing. 'We used to live near each other as children. He was the one who told her she was a witch – as she was Muggle-born, of course, just like Dudley is. I remember being upset about that.'

'Because you wanted to be a witch too?'

Petunia was taken aback at her niece's perception, but quickly recovered herself. Evanna had always been an odd child. 'Well … yes, I was, though I wouldn't admit it at the time. I even went wrote a letter to Professor Dumbledore, asking him to let me go to Hogwarts too, but he said no. But about Professor Snape. He and your mother, Lily, were best friends until they were about fifteen or so, then Lily came back for the holidays that summer, but she wouldn't speak to him. I don't know what happened between them … the two of us weren't very close at that point, I'm afraid … but a few years later she started going out with your father, James Potter, and after they left Hogwarts they got married … and had you.' She paused. Evanna was holding her breath, waiting for more. Petunia went on.

'They lived in a place called Godric's Hollow, and that's where they were on Hallowe'en, when Voldemort …  _found_  … them. I expect … I expect they're still there now. If you like, we could probably go and see them … as an extra-special Christmas present.'

'Just us?'

Petunia nodded. She loved Evanna like a daughter, and knew in her tactful, caring heart that a bit of mother-daughter bonding time would do them both good.

'Now?' The girl's green eyes were wider than flagons of Butterbeer.

'Why not? Run into the house and get your jacket and mine, and tell your uncle we'll be going out, and that we'll be back in time for dinner – not that I expect anyone'll want much after that enormous lunch.'

Evanna put out her left hand once they were ready, standing near the kerb, and at once the Knight Bus came screaming up. The two of them clambered aboard and were nearly knocked over when the bus gave a tremendous lurch and set off at a speed that was very likely beyond the Muggle speed limit.

'Merry Christmas!' cried the conductor cheerfully (not Joelle Meadowes this time, but a tall boy with long hair covering his eyes, and ears that stuck out at ninety degrees). 'And where're you two going, then?'

'Godric's Hollow,' answered Petunia. And then, as an afterthought, added, 'Merry Christmas to you, too.'

Half an hour later, they left the bus and departed into a snowy little village. Tinsel was hanging from windows and wreaths from doors; fairy lights were draped around trees and on top of fences; they glittered brilliantly in the snow and sunshine. Neither Petunia nor Evanna spoke as they splashed and crunched their way through the melting snow and the town.

'Evanna … here.' And Petunia grasped the child's mittened hand and guided her through a white gate into a powdery graveyard.


	14. Daphne's Secret

They arrived back at Number Four, Privet Drive at quarter to five. Aunt Petunia went into the kitchen to warm up leftovers from lunch for dinner if anyone was hungry, while Evanna trooped slowly up the stairs to her bedroom. Only after she had shut the door behind her did she pull open the second drawer of her bedside table and take out a stack of Muggle snapshots, held together by a rubber band.

She flipped through the photos slowly, in order of age. First there was a plump redheaded baby, frowning inquisitively at the camera, with Petunia looking down at her curiously. Handwritten on the back was a caption:  _Baby Lily Francesca Evans, born 30/1/60, one week old, with Petunia (aged two and a half)_.

There were many, many more pictures: of her mother's first birthday party, trips to the zoo and school days; and Evanna even caught sight of a young Severus Snape watching the sisters wistfully in clothes that seemed far too big.

After Lily started going to Hogwarts, the pictures changed. There were less of them, and the subject matter was different. There were just about no shots with Petunia and Lily together, for instance – something very telling.

But there was one picture Evanna looked at for a long time.

It was the very last picture in the pile, and the only magical one. A smiling Lily was holding a giggling Evanna, who was wearing a mini Father Christmas's hat and had her hair tied in two wispy little pigtails. And there, with his arm around his wife, was her Dad – a thin man with black hair, roguish hazel eyes, round glasses and a crazy grin. He was waving enthusiastically at the camera. Then somebody else jumped in: a man with shaggy black hair and a mischievous expression. Evanna sat there, grinning like an idiot for a couple of seconds before flipping the picture over to read the caption:

> _That's me, James and our darling baby in there – or at least it was supposed to be. Sirius insisted on acting like a five-year-old and jumped in front at the last moment – sorry about that. Hope you and your family are having a lovely Christmas. How are Vernon and Dudley? I wish you'd write._
> 
> _Love, Lily_
> 
> _25 December 1980_

The twenty-fifth of December, 1980.

Christmas Day.

Her first Christmas.

Her  _o_ _nly_  Christmas before Privet Drive.

Images flashed in her head again, her only memories of her parents: that of a man who bravely and without second thought sacrificed his life for his wife and child … of a woman who begged and pleaded for her daughter's life, even as she selflessly, desperately offered up her own …

Before she knew it, she was curled up on the rumpled bed, sobbing like a baby. She was almost eleven and a half years old, and hadn't cried since the drugging had forced her to relive the memories of her parents dying (and that didn't really count), but she did now.

'Cat,' called Dudley from the other side of her bedroom door, 'are you OK? Mum says dinner's ready if you want to eat, but you don't have to.'

'I … I'll be there. Give me a minute.'

She dried her eyes, put the photos away, washed her face and hands in the bathroom and joined her family and Ron for dinner.

* * *

The rest of the holidays after Christmas passed in no time at all, and soon Evanna, Dudley and Ron were back at Hogwarts.

Somehow Hogwarts seemed a lot bigger and overwhelming, at least to Evanna. It made it seem more exciting, but also somewhat scarier.

To cap that, Evanna had started having nightmares again. She thought they'd been triggered by seeing her family in the Mirror of Erised as well as visiting their graves in Godric's Hollow, but not all of her nightmares consisted of a high-pitched voice, screaming and pleading and a flash of deadly green light. Some were instead more similar to the one she'd had in when she'd stayed in the hospital wing after the fiasco which had been Hallowe'en. Secretly she began to think Daphne was in fact right – Quirrell was out to get her. But another part of the dreams that frightened her was that there was a high, cruel voice in them that she just might recognise …

* * *

Now she was back at Hogwarts with Tracey, Daphne and Hermione, and Evanna was still determined to enjoy it, regardless of trolls and druggings and nightmares.

It was only then that she realised rather belatedly that she knew basically nothing about Daphne's home life. She knew, for instance, that Hermione, an only child, lived with her Muggle parents in Surrey, not far from Little Whinging. Tracey was similar to Evanna in that she didn't live with her parents, but her aunt's family. There were many other differences though: Tracey was a pure-blood; she lived in Bedfordshire, not Surrey; her Aunt Jillian, Uncle Alastair and older cousins Jack and Vanessa were all magical (Vanessa was a Slytherin prefect at Hogwarts), and her parents were not dead, but in Australia, working for that country's Ministry of Magic.

But when Evanna tried to go over what she knew about Daphne, she struck a dead end. She knew Daphne lived with her mother and little sister Astoria in London. By inferring and observations she knew that Daphne's family was not very well off (she had used schoolbooks and wore secondhand robes). Evanna had no idea why Daphne didn't have a father, and had never asked. She knew Daphne's mother and Draco Malfoy's mother were first cousins by marriage from the train, but neither Daphne or Draco had ever brought up the subject since.

It was on a snowy Saturday afternoon in January, however, that Evanna, Tracey and Hermione stumbled upon Daphne's secrets.

Taking advantage of the snow, Evanna and Tracey convinced the studious Hermione to take a break from a morning of homework and notes to spend the afternoon outside on the grounds. Daphne, however, disappeared straight after breakfast, saying rather vaguely that she had to write a letter to her mother. This she did every Saturday morning without fail, though never where Evanna or anyone else could see. They all put this down to Daphne's introverted and reclusive nature, though – until they found out the real reason.

The three of them set out about ten o'clock, wearing their winter cloaks and wrapped in green and silver (Evanna and Tracey) and gold and scarlet (Hermione) scarves. They walked around the grounds, chatting and discussing homework, when Evanna saw Daphne sitting in seclusion near the lake, leaning against a tree. There was something shiny in her hand, and she seemed to be talking to it.

'Daphne!' Hermione began, quickening her pace, but Evanna, grasping hold of the notion that something was not quite right, thrust out her arm, stopping Hermione.

'Wait …'

They began walking towards Daphne, their shoes crunching the melting snow, the sun warm on their heads, but Daphne did not look up. She was engaged in a conversation, and once they were close enough, Evanna could distinguish the words.

'Mum, listen,' she could hear Daphne's voice saying. 'Tori's eight – you can't let her stay at home alone. If you tell her to go to Aunt Andromeda's instead of our place after school then that should work out.' Daphne, Evanna realised, was holding up a small hand mirror in front of her face and speaking into it, rather like a telephone conversation. They couldn't see what was in the mirror, but Evanna felt sure it wasn't the obvious answer: Daphne herself.

'Daph, what's up?' Tracey asked innocently. 'I thought you were writing a letter to your mum.'

Daphne jumped and almost dropped the mirror on the hard grass. Then she spoke into it quickly, saying 'Sorry, Mum, I've gotta go, love you' before turning to Tracey and the others.

'Do you know what a Squib is?'

When Tracey looked amazed, Daphne said quickly, 'I was talking to Cat and Hermione.' They were the two in their group who had been raised by Muggles, after all.

Hermione nodded. Daphne turned her attention to Evanna. 'Cat?'

'Sort of,' Evanna said truthfully. She'd only seen the term in her schoolbooks, and they had never really explained it, assuming their target audience had at least basic knowledge of the wizarding world.

Daphne sighed impatiently. 'A Squib is a person born into a magical family, but who can't use magic. Like the opposite of Hermione, for instance.'

They waited expectantly, and Daphne did not disappoint them.

'My mum's a Squib.'

Hermione's response was very Hermioneish: 'Really? Aren't they supposed to be quite rare?'

Daphne shrugged, and Evanna could tell this was a sensitive subject. Then Daphne pulled a piece of scrap parchment out of her pocket. Evanna lent her a ballpoint pen, and Daphne drew a family tree. [Below is what it is in written form.]

> **Cygnus and Druella Black**
> 
> _parents of Bellatrix Lestrange, Narcissa Malfoy (married to Lucius Malfoy, only son Draco) and Andromeda Tonks (married to Ted Tonks, only daughter Nymphadora)_
> 
> **Orion and Walburga Black (sister to Cygnus Black)**
> 
> _parents of Noctua Greengrass (married to Marcus Greengrass, deceased, two children: Daphne and Astoria), Sirius Black and Regulus Black (deceased)_

'This is my family tree,' Daphne said, speaking very fast as she scribbled.  _That's_  where Draco comes into the picture' – she stabbed his name with the pen savagely, almost going right through the parchment – 'and that's my Mum. The Blacks are a really fussy lot, believing in all this blood purity rubbish – Aunt Andromeda was disowned for marring a Muggle-born. As soon as they found out she's a Squib, my mum's parents disowned  _her_. That's why we live on the other side of London to the Black family home. After my mum moved out, they pretended she didn't exist.'

Both Tracey and Hermione looked horrified – Hermione more so, Evanna thought.

'You have to understand,' Daphne said, breathing heavily, 'that the Black family story is a tragic tale. The family is cursed. Aunt Bella and Uncle Sirius are both in Azkaban, Aunt Andromeda was disowned, as I said; Uncle Regulus went missing before we were born and my Great-Uncle Alphard was disinherited for giving money to Uncle Sirius when he – Uncle Sirius – ran away when he was sixteen. My dad died of dragon pox when I was really young, so for ages it's just been my mum and my little sister Astoria and me.'

'I think your mum's very brave,' Tracey said comfortingly – and it was just about the best thing she could have said. 'I wouldn't have dared to just go out into the world like that and make a living like nothing happened when my own parents rejected me. I'd – I'd curl up and die or something.'

Daphne looked pleased, and a bit more cheerful.

'Mum sent both me and Tori to a Muggle primary school since we turned five. Tori still goes there of course – she's only nine – but Mum loves the idea of school before Hogwarts' (Hermione looked pleased).'She says it's ridiculous the way Hogwarts doesn't teach subjects like maths or reading or science or drama, so she made us both go.'

That made three of the four of them who had previously attended a Muggle school. Tracey looked slightly put out, but Evanna was thinking. Something Daphne had said on the Hogwarts Express back in September didn't make sense to her now.

'How come, then,' she said hesitantly, not wanting to offend Daphne (she could be very touchy at times), 'on the train to Hogwarts, when I said I live with my Muggle aunt and uncle, you said you wouldn't be caught dead living with Muggles. But didn't you go to school with them? Why would you …'

Daphne smirked, and all of a sudden Evanna felt stupid for not having realised earlier.

'Oh,' she said, suddenly comprehending. 'You were testing me, weren't you?'

Daphne's nut-brown eyes met Evanna's brilliant green ones, and suddenly there was no real need to answer at all.


	15. A Chapter of Conversations

Ever since she and Dudley arrived back at school after a long day on the Hogwarts Express, Evanna had been trying to find the enormous room where she found the mysterious mirror the day before the Christmas holidays. She didn't remember exactly where she'd found it – somewhere on the seventh floor near a tapestry was her best bet. And then she found the tapestry she thought was right – she'd been certain it was of Barnabus the Barmy (a real nutter) attempting to teach trolls ballet. But it wasn't there. There was no door at all. Evanna stared hopelessly at the stubbornly blank wall for a couple of minutes before heading down flight after flight of stairs towards the kitchens.

'I've got a question,' she told the house-elves once she had gained their attention (which wasn't hard). 'The day before the Christmas holidays, I was on the seventh floor running away from Filch when I found this strange room with a mirror …' She described the events of the day as she remembered, though focusing on the room itself, rather than the mirror.

Halfway through the story, one of the elves interrupted her, clapping her hands. 'We house-elves know what room that is, Miss Potter! It is known as the Come and Go Room, or else the Room of Requirement!'

'The Room of Requirement?'

'It is a Room that only appears when a person has real need of it,' another elf explained eagerly, and Evanna listened as the house-elves explained the intricacies of the Room.

'But what about the Mirror? Do any of you know anything about it?'

The house-elves shook their heads, big ears flapping wildly, and Evanna was slightly disappointed. She left, after thanking them politely, and went on the long trek to what she now knew to be called the Room of Requirement.

* * *

Hermione was ecstatic.

'Just think of all the things we could do with this room!' she said enthusiastically, craning her neck to see the Room of Requirement (which had complied with their unadorned request and provided a simple, bare room) from every degree. 'We could use it for meeting in private or studying together or practicing extra-curricular spells –'

'Hermione, didn't we cure you of all that?' Tracey said in mock surprise. 'Hanging out with Slytherins ought to have done  _something_  to your work ethic.'

'Yeah, we're supposed to be a bad influence on the goody-goody Gryffindor,' Evanna continued. Daphne only smirked.

'That's not fair,' Hermione burst out, as the others began laughing. 'Slytherins aren't lazy. That's just a stereotype. According to the Sorting Hat and  _Hogwarts: A History_ , Slytherins value ambition and leadership. They wouldn't –'

'Oh, knock it off, Hermione,' Evanna interrupted affectionately. 'We all know you're a Slytherin at heart, which means you're  _almost_  up to our level.' Then she darted out of the way as Hermione pulled out her wand threateningly. Tracey and Daphne promptly pulled out their own wands and sent hexes Hermione's way. Eventually the Gryffindor was cornered by Evanna, Tracey and Daphne, captured but loudly protesting.

'That's unfair, all of you! Ganging up on me when you know perfectly well there are three of you and only one of me –'

'Haven't you learnt by now, Granger?' Daphne taunted, twirling her wand lazily. ' _Slytherins stick together_  – no matter how supposedly unfair the odds get. You'd never see any Ravenclaws doing that. They're too swotty for their own good.'

Hermione puffed out her chest in indignation. 'For your information, Daphne Greengrass, the Sorting Hat considered putting  _me_  in Ravenclaw!'

There was a very abrupt silence, broken by Daphne's dry remark, 'Well, that explains a lot.'

The next moment Daphne was on the floor, victim to Hermione's Body-Bind Curse.

'Stop gaping,' Hermione told Evanna and Tracey firmly, ignoring the prostrate Daphne completely. 'It's true. Anything similar happen during your Sorting?'

'Hexing a fellow student!' Evanna gasped, awed. 'I didn't think you'd stoop so low!'

'Shut  _up_ , Cat. Answer the question.'

'The Hat just said I couldn't possibly be in Hufflepuff,' said Evanna, getting bored of teasing Hermione. 'Nothing that interesting.'

They both looked at Tracey, who grimaced.

'It told me I could have been in Gryffindor,' she said, before turning to Daphne and unfreezing her. Daphne got to her feet, sending poisonous looks at Hermione before saying, ' _Gryffindor?_  Seriously?'

'Uh huh,' said Tracey blithely. 'Something about me having "mental strength and the ability to do right in the face of adversity" – though the Hat caved and made me a Slytherin because of my "sheer loyalty and determination".'

'Nice,' said Evanna. Daphne took advantage of the lull to send a simple, harmless (though well-aimed) charm at Hermione, that had the effect of turning her hair a bright, lurid purple for half an hour. Hermione took it worse than any of them expected; she ignored Daphne completely for the next few hours. Daphne, of course, took it in her stride.

* * *

'So, what'd you get up to over the holidays, Evanna?' asked Susan cheerfully, their first Astronomy class back. Professor Sinistra had been sick the first week of the term, so their first class in 1992 was cancelled.

Evanna shrugged. 'Nothing too special,' she said, concentrating on the chart of Saturn and its moons they were supposed to be drawing up. 'Dudley's friend Ron Weasley – you know, from Gryffindor – stayed over. And on Christmas my aunt took me to see my parents' graves in Godric's Hollow.' Actually, she'd been lying when she'd said 'nothing too special', but Susan didn't need to know that.

Susan gasped softly. 'I'm sorry,' she said sympathetically, putting a hand gently on Evanna's arm. Evanna didn't want to be rude, but she felt uncomfortable. She didn't need Susan's pity.

'It's OK,' she said quickly, double-checking to make sure she put Europa in the right place. 'I never knew them anyway, so I don't miss them.'

'My grandparents were murdered by You-Know-Who, too,' Susan said suddenly, surprising Evanna. 'And my aunt and uncle and cousins were killed by Death Eaters during the last war.'

'… Oh,' Evanna said, feeling wretched.

'But you're right, I never knew my grandparents or my aunt and uncle and cousins either, so I don't miss them,' Susan continued hastily. 'I'm just glad I'm not you.'

'Why …'

'Because I don't like fame,' Susan said simply. 'I'm a Hufflepuff; that's what Hufflepuffs are like. I've heard what questions people ask when they meet you' – Susan put on an affected, high-pitched air – '"What's it like being famous?" "Do you remember what You-Know-Who looks like?" "Do you miss your parents at all?"' She gave a snort, quickly muffled when Professor Sinistra called, 'Quiet over there, Miss Bones, Miss Potter.'

'But really, I don't get why everybody treats you differently,' Susan went on, while Evanna blinked. 'I mean, sure, your parents were murdered by You-Know-Who, sure, you've got a scar on your forehead, but who wants to be famous for that? Who wants to be famous for having no parents? It's sick. It's twisted. It's absolutely disgusting.'

'Thanks,' Evanna said, slightly uncomfortable. 'You sound like Hermione.' But Hermione had never treated her as being something special because she, Evanna, was famous. She'd even gone so far as to accuse Evanna of cheating the first time they'd properly met. And Tracey was too polite and tactful to say anything that would hurt anybody else's feelings or make them squirm uncomfortably. As for Daphne … well, even after the revelations just after Christmas, the hot and cold Daphne was still something of an enigma.

* * *

It was March, and Daphne and Ron were having a bet. Daphne was sure that Quirrell was behind the troll on Hallowe'en and Evanna's drugging, whereas Ron thought Snape was the culprit. Dudley was on Ron's side and Evanna on Daphne's. Tracey and Hermione were neutral; Tracey because she thought it was disgusting to bet about who was trying to kill Evanna, and Hermione because she was divided in opinion. Hence she acted as researcher for both sides.

 _'Professor Quirinus Quirrell is a former member of a coveted spot of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers, which was founded in 1963 by Hector Dagworth-Granger. While at Hogwarts, he was sorted into Ravenclaw House and lived up to his house's reputation, rapidly becoming known as the class genius. Although he excelled in all subjects he took at Hogwarts, obtaining ten 'Outstanding' O.W.L.s in his fifth year, he showed particular aptitudes for Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts and Muggle Studies,'_  Hermione read aloud from a large book with a brown cover. She didn't speak too loudly – who knew when Madam Pomfrey might sneak up on them and find some excuse to single them out. There were seven of them in their 'little' study group: Evanna, Tracey, Daphne, Hermione, Dudley, Ron and Neville Longbottom (Neville wasn't taking part in the bet, but he was Dudley and Ron's best friend, so it only seemed fair that he be included). Hermione, Dudley and Daphne were the only ones actively reading; the rest were either occupied in some silent game, sitting with a book open in front of them or perusing the bookshelves. Tracey wasn't actually present right then; she'd gone off on something only Evanna, Daphne and Hermione knew about.

'What are you reading from?' Evanna asked Hermione, peering over her shoulder.

_'Notable Magical Names of Our Time.'_

'Can –' Evanna began, intending to ask to borrow the book, but was stopped by a soft call from Dudley.

'Hey, Cat, I found you.'

Evanna went over to the other table, where Dudley was reading  _Modern Magical History_  opposite from Ron and Neville, who were playing Snap with Dudley's deck of Muggle cards, because Exploding Snap cards were banned from the library. Dudley pointed out a page, and Evanna read:

_'On 31 October, 1981, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named targeted the house of James and Lily Potter, who were then living in Godric's Hollow, and killed James and Lily before advancing on their child, one-year-old Lily Evanna Potter (born 31 July 1980). It is unknown exactly what took place in the Potters' house, but most people believe that the Dark Lord cast the Killing Curse on baby Lily and that it somehow rebounded, leaving her with a distinctive lightning-bolt-shaped scar on her forehead. The Dark Lord disappeared that night, and Lily Potter was instantly hailed as the Girl Who Lived, saviour of the wizarding world.'_

'Well, that's … interesting,' Evanna said, for lack of a better word. 'But did you find anything about Snape?'

Dudley shook his head. 'According to what you told me, he went to Hogwarts around the time your mum and dad did. So he can't be really old … only about thirty or so.'

'What?' Ron demanded. 'I thought he was at least forty!'

'Ssssh!' Hermione hissed waspishly.

'We didn't find anything about him, though,' Dudley said to Evanna, while Ron shot a disgruntled look at Hermione. Everybody ignored this completely – Ron and Hermione, though they had become (for lack of any other name) somewhat of friends, bickered constantly and drove everybody else up the wall.

'Got some good news then,' Evanna said in a low voice. 'Trace's gone to get her cousin Vanessa. She's a prefect and should be able to persuade Madam Pince to let us read school magazines from when Snape went to Hogwarts. It was Hermione's idea.'

A few minutes later, Tracey and her cousin, a tall sixth-year with dark curls and Tracey's wide mouth, came into the library talking. Tracey came over to Evanna, Daphne and Hermione's table while Vanessa went to the front desk to tackle Madam Pince.

Madam Pince, who was in the process of wiping invisible specks of dust off a very old book, looked up, irritated.

'Up to mischief, are you?' she demanded. But she subsided slightly when she saw a Slytherin badge emblazoned with a silver 'P' on the front of Vanessa's robes.

'Oh, no,' broke in Vanessa virtuously. 'I was just wondering if the library has copies of the old school magazine, the one that was called  _Eight Quills_  and ran during the 1970s. I'd like to have a look at them – research for a History project, you know.'

'Oh, I suppose that's all right then …' Madam Pince said reluctantly. She left Vanessa at the desk and returned a few minutes later with a stack of magazines, some of them yellowing. Vanessa brought the pile over to Evanna and Tracey's table.

'Here you go, Trace,' she said cheerfully, dumping the lot in front of her cousin. 'Just remember: you owe me one.'

'Sure.'

Once Vanessa was gone, they began grabbing magazines off the stack and flipping them open with reckless disregard for Madam Pince's nerves (that is, everybody but Hermione). Evanna took one near the top of the pile, dated March 1977, opened it and began reading.


	16. Eight Quills and Elderly Relations

It was past midnight by the time Evanna finally finished going through all the editions of  _Eight Quills_  from cover to cover. Vanessa had managed to convince Madam Pince to let her borrow them from the library for a few weeks. The others had quickly become bored, but Evanna took the whole stack to a quiet corner of the common room and read them as the room slowly emptied. At one point Tracey and Daphne joined her.

'Cat, we're going to bed. Aren't you coming? It's past ten,' Tracey said.

'Not yet. You two go on without me, I want to finish this.'

Once they left, she turned her attention back to  _Eight Quills_.

> **Contents**
> 
> Special News
> 
>   * **Current Events** _by the Quick-Quotes Quill (page 2)_
>   * **Academic News** _by the Eagle-Feather Quill (page 7)_
>   * **Reader Contributions** _by the Ninth Quill (page 10)_
>   * **Fashion** _by the Peacock Quill (page 28)_
>   * **Sport** _by the Sugar Quill (page 30)_
> 

> 
> House News
> 
>   * **Tower Talk**   _by the Gryffindor Quill (page 16)_
>   * **Badger** s' Business  _by the Hufflepuff Quill (page 19)_
>   * **Swotty Stuff**   _by the Ravenclaw Quill (page 22)_
>   * **Dungeon Drama** _by the Slytherin Quill (page 25)_
> 


Opposite this, inside the front cover, was the list:

> **_Eight Quills_  is brought to you by:**
> 
>   * The Quick-Quotes Quill (Hugo Carpenter, Ravenclaw)
>   * The Eagle-Feather Quill (Lily Evans, Gryffindor)
>   * The Peacock Quill (Matilda Abbott, Hufflepuff)
>   * The Sugar Quill (Emma Vanity, Slytherin)
>   * The Gryffindor Quill (Frank Longbottom, Gryffindor)
>   * The Hufflepuff Quill (Davey Gudgeon, Hufflepuff)
>   * The Ravenclaw Quill (Ingrid Proudfoot, Ravenclaw)
>   * The Slytherin Quill (Jeremy Farley, Slytherin)
>   * The Ninth Quill (reader contributions, edited by the Eagle-Feather Quill)
> 


Evanna froze for a few seconds when she saw who the Eagle-Feather Quill was, but mentally put aside this information for later. There were more important things at hand.

Flipping through the magazine, she could immediately tell it was a humour magazine, full of satire, witty remarks and cleverly-disguised insults. Somebody had done a complicated bit of spellwork on it, though – she could read every section but the Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw ones (whenever she tried to access them, the numbers for those pages mysteriously disappeared and she found herself at the Slytherin section). But then a bit in the Slytherin part caught her eye.

> _Severus Snape, seventh year and Potions expert, has recently gotten in Professor Slughorn's good books by brewing a perfect example of the highly difficult truth potion Veritaserum. Hmm … clear example of books over looks, perhaps?_

Books over looks … interesting …

But the majority of the magazines yielded disappointing results. There were next to no words about Snape aside from the occasional unhelpful mention, usually in some snarky remark about his greasy hair or unattractive nose. And she couldn't find anything substantial about Quirrell, either – though she realised  _Eight Quills_  had only begun publishing a few years after Quirrell had left Hogwarts. Apparently he returned to Hogwarts not long after to teach Muggle Studies, and had taught Muggle Studies until he took a year-long sabbatical to travel the world before returning to the school, this time to teach Defence (this news they had managed to divulge from the  _Daily Prophet_ 's report on Quirrell becoming the new Defence teacher).

Evanna scowled, stacked the magazines back into a pile and took them to the dormitory before climbing into bed, her eyes aching from going over page after yellowed page. So she'd found out basically nothing they hadn't known before! What an utterly useful waste of her time! And yet … She opened one of the magazines to the inside cover and traced the name of the Eagle-Feather Quill. She hadn't known that her own mother used to be an editor for a school magazine …

* * *

'What're you doing for Easter?' Tracey asked Evanna, Daphne, Pansy and Millicent one night in early April. The five of them were in their dormitory, either getting ready for bed or already in it, for the most part. Daphne was sitting up in bed, reading by the light of her wand (Professor Flitwick had been teaching them the Wand-Lighting Charm).

Pansy spoke first.

'Our family pays a visit to the Parkinson cousins in France every year. They moved there after the last war and we have to travel by Portkey to see them. What about you, Millicent?'

Evanna didn't really care for Pansy, even though they were classmates and roommates and had been for the past seven months. Pansy had a tendency to exaggerate the truth as well as push other people down to make herself look better. She had good qualities too, of course – she could be caring and loyal, but overall Evanna liked Tracey, Daphne and Hermione better. Also, Pansy was friends with Draco – and Draco and Daphne didn't get along.

'Oh, nothing much,' Millicent said vaguely, running her fingers through her thick, dark hair and concentrating. 'Oh, no, hang on, my dad got tickets for the Quidditch match on the Saturday before Easter – Harpies versus the Bats, I think it is.'

Millicent was another matter. Strong and heavyset, she was quite intimidating for a first-year, and nobody messed with her. But inside of Slytherin, she shed the aggressive, cool mask many Slytherins wore when in the company of non-Slytherins and had already proved herself to have a brilliant sense of humour. She wasn't pretty, not in the least, but had an 'interesting face' (though Gryffindors were wont to call her ugly) that was easy to remember. She often hung out with Blaise Zabini, though she was good friends with her own roommates.

'That's not "nothing much"!' Tracey said indignantly, interrupting Evanna's musings. 'I'd love to go and see that – I go for the Harpies – but we're having a family dinner instead.'

'Are your parents coming?' Evanna asked interestedly.

An almost imperceptible shadow crossed Tracey's face, but she only answered lightly, 'No, they must be really busy. We haven't heard from them in a while.' And then she added swiftly, 'You doing anything, Cat?'

'My aunt and uncle and Dudley and I visit my grandparents every year at Easter,' Evanna said softly, unwilling to part with the information but not wanting to be rude. 'They live in a nursing home in the south of Surrey.'

Tracey, Pansy and Millicent swapped confused looks, and retained them until Evanna explained, rather bluntly, what a nursing home was. 'They stay there because they both have dementia. They're rather old, you see.'

'Dementia? What's that? Do you mean 'Dementor'? Were your grandparents … Kissed?' Questions spilled out like drops of water from Pansy.

Tracey's hand jumped to her mouth.

'No,  _dementia_ ,' Evanna repeated. 'It's a … er … Muggle disease. It means that my grandparents can't create new memories, so it's like they're stuck in the past. They don't know how old they are, and they don't recognise any of us … not really.' That, she knew, was the truth. Aunt Petunia had explained it to her and Dudley once, when they were eight. 'And there isn't any cure.'

'They're having trouble with memories?' Millicent said, completely baffled by the concept. 'Maybe they should get a Pensieve to help them.'

'A what, sorry?'

Millicent explained quickly and Evanna felt the blood rushing into her cheeks. 'Thanks, but I don't think that would work. They're both Muggles, you see.'

It was only quite a bit later, when Evanna was lying awake thinking and listening to the soothing noises the giant squid made, that she realised that Daphne hadn't said what she and her family were doing for Easter. Did they go attend an Easter service on Sunday morning? Did they take the day off, perhaps, and visit Diagon Alley or Muggle London? Did Daphne spend the day with some Muggle friends from her old primary school – that is, if she had any? Or did they visit the grave of Daphne and Astoria's Muggle-born father and mourn his death when the rest of the world was celebrating another man's freely given life?

* * *

Aunt Petunia woke Dudley and Evanna at six o'clock on Easter morning. Half-awake they dressed and stumbled downstairs and muddled their way through breakfast before everybody was ready. Once they were, they all tumbled into the car, Uncle Vernon making an effort not to yawn from behind the wheel. Aunt Petunia sat on his left and Evanna and Dudley made themselves comfortable on the back seat. It was going to be a long ride, especially since it was Easter Sunday and the motorways were crowded. Add that to the fact that Dudley got carsick if he rode in a car for more than an hour without stopping into the mix, plus the idea that the car trip was supposed to take three hours, and you had a long, boring trip, coupled with frequent stops (courtesy of Dudley's stomach and traffic jams).

They reached the nursing home at half-past ten, Dudley looking faintly green even as he glared enviously at Evanna, who sat blithely next to the other window, reading a Muggle book.

They piled out of the car. Evanna had a horrible, cold feeling of dread in her stomach. It was the sense she had every year, like something was terribly wrong, irreparably ruined and messed up and sad, but she didn't really know why. She disliked seeing her grandparents, and had the vague feeling that she shouldn't, but didn't know what to do about it.

The visit went almost exactly the same as every single time before, including one scene that Evanna hated most of all:

'Do you know,' said Evanna's grandmother wistfully, her soft blue eyes (so very like Aunt Petunia's) gazing at Evanna with a childlike fascination, 'I like your eyes. My daughter Lily has eyes just like yours; have you met her? She's a wonderful child – always laughing.'

Evanna shook her head. She couldn't open her mouth, she couldn't say anything, or she'd burst out crying. There was something heartbreakingly sad about the fact that her own grandmother didn't even know who Evanna was. Sure, they went through this conversation every single year, but her grandmother didn't recognise any of them, not even Aunt Petunia. And every Easter was so like the first time that it seemed like no time had passed between. In a desperate effort to make her mind venture into less emotional topics, she told herself firmly that she didn't know what to do about Quirrell … or Snape – both of which could possibly pose a very real problem. According to Daphne and Ron, anyway.


	17. A Faulty Memory

Surprisingly, the month after Easter passed relatively quietly for Evanna. She'd arrived back at Hogwarts after the break with more than a little trepidation, for who knew but Quirrell/Snape might be out to get her? But nothing out of the ordinary happened at all, and even though the others took this as a good sign, it made Evanna nervous. Again: who knew what either of their suspects might be up to?

Although she didn't mention the subject at all, Evanna wanted to get back to the Room of Requirement (the Room of Hidden Things in particular) and revisit the mysterious Mirror. She'd told Tracey, Daphne and Hermione about it, but they had all advised her not to return.

'I've got a bad feeling about that Mirror, Cat,' said Tracey candidly, venturing her opinion. 'Just leave it alone … it's no good.'

'I think I know what that is,' Daphne told her firmly. 'A cursed Mirror that shows you something wonderful that you can't have. It'll drive you mad. Don't go back.'

Hermione by and large agreed with Tracey's sentiments.

'I don't know, Cat … it sounds suspicious to me … Just let it go, it won't do you any harm if you stay away from it and don't tempt trouble.'

In the end, Evanna decided that they were right. She hadn't forgotten how she'd reacted upon first seeing what was in the Mirror. Even though she had an Invisibility Cloak now, courtesy of her father and Professor Dumbledore, she resisted the urge to slip it on at night and make her way to the seventh floor. Hermione was right … she shouldn't tempt fate, especially when someone at Hogwarts had it in for her.

* * *

They were halfway through May when one warm morning at breakfast Hermione announced, horrified, that there were only a few weeks left until exams.

'I can't believe it!' she exclaimed nervously, flipping through  _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ , ignoring her toast, which was getting cold. She had the air of somebody who had just awoken after being asleep for a long time … hibernating, maybe. 'I usually start preparing  _much_  earlier than this, six weeks ahead at least –'

'Hermione, should we be worried?' said Daphne, yawning into her cornflakes. 'You're acting like you've missed the Hogwarts Express. Honestly, it's only our first year. There're six more to go if we mess up.'

Hermione turned to Daphne, scandalised.

'Don't you  _care_  about exams at all?' she demanded in a shocked voice, missing the dryness in Daphne's tone completely. Daphne rolled her eyes.

'Of course I do. I was joking. I just don't want to disappoint my mum – or my dad, either.'

'And you two?' asked Hermione, mistaking the butter knife for a quill and brandishing it at Tracey and Evanna. 'What about you?'

'Of course,' said Tracey quickly.

'Me, too,' echoed Evanna. And then, in an effort not to sound like Crabbe or Goyle, added rashly, 'I'll study with you, Hermione, if you like. Wouldn't want to let Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon down.' Then she almost regretted her response as Hermione turned to her so eagerly that she knocked the jug of pumpkin juice onto a stack of toast, turning the lot a soggy, orange, sprawling disgusting mess reminiscent of bread that had been soaked in soup and not eaten, but stacked back up again. The next few minutes were spent mopping up the sticky orangeness, which was slowly but steadily seeping across the table. There was so much pumpkin juice that by the time they had finished, students were already leaving the Great Hall for their first lesson of the day. Evanna and the others grabbed their bags and followed suit, laughing and chatting. Once they were clear of the traffic, Hermione pulled her timetable out of her robes and consulted it.

'I should go, Charms starts in ten minutes,' she said quickly, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder properly. 'See you all in Flying, all right?' She hesitated before lowering her voice and saying to Evanna, 'Anything new in Defence?' All four of them knew what that meant.

'No,' Evanna answered. 'Nothing unusual.'

Hermione bit her lip, looking anxious. 'It's so unnerving,' she said quietly. 'You  _will_  tell me if anything happens, won't you?' Even if the others had been lulled into a false sense of security, Hermione sure hadn't.

'Yeah, of course, but nothing will, nothing's happened since Christmas,' said Evanna hastily. 'See you at the pitch.' They parted ways; Hermione set off for Professor Flitwick's classroom, while Evanna and the others headed towards double Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Evanna, Tracey and Daphne arrived on time, fortunately, as the teachers were preparing them for then upcoming exams and hence had rather short tempers (especially McGonagall and Snape). But Professor Quirrell wasn't the intimidating type; the whole school regarded his lessons as a bit of a joke. Evanna herself hated Defence because every day she'd had it with Quirrell, she'd come out of it with a horribly severe headache. She supposed she ought to be used to them by now, after eight months, and she was, but it didn't make her like Defence any more.

This particular lesson they were supposed to be doing was actually a test of sorts, to go over what they already knew. At first it began uneventfully, but Evanna began to feel twinges of alarm when her scar began to sear even more painfully than usual. What was going on? Was Quirrell planning something sinister?

Halfway through the pain had become so much that she could barely concentrate – something that hadn't happened since December, at least. Usually she could push on through the throbbing, but now she was having trouble seeing the sheet of parchment in front of her. Shakily she took a spare piece of parchment from her bag as quietly as possible, took her pen and wrote a note:

> _It's a lot worse this time. I think he might be up to something._
> 
> _Cat_

Then she hesitated. Which should she give it to: Tracey or Daphne? Tracey she felt she knew better, and there was no denying she was caring and sympathetic, but Daphne was much better at hiding her reactions. That settled it, then. Evanna tried to surreptitiously flick the parchment over to Daphne's desk, which was on her left, but it wafted to the ground. She twisted sideways, her heart clanging dangerously in her chest, and picked it up. Briefly she considered folding it into an aeroplane, but realised the parchment was too thick for that. Desperately, the pain in her head spiking, she clenched her eyes almost shut against it and thought, her scar felt taut and tight on her forehead. Quietly scrunching the parchment into a ball under her desk, she lobbed it onto Daphne's desk. It landed with a soft rustle and Daphne quickly slipped it under the desk just as Professor Quirrell said, 'What are y-y-you d-doing, Miss P-Potter?'

Evanna's head snapped up guiltily. 'Nothing, Professor,' she said, startled into lying. She expected him to let it go, seeing as the note was no longer visible and Daphne was innocently scratching out five examples of Dark magic on her own test. But then he surprised everybody by stammering helplessly, 'Miss P-P-Potter, ten p-points f-f-f-from S-Slytherin.'

'Sorry?' Evanna said stupidly. Spineless, incompetent Professor Quirrell had actually taken house points? How surprising was that? At the left edge of her line of vision she could see Daphne smooth out the parchment under her desk, read its contents and crumple it in her fist. Evanna raised her eyes to Quirrell's face and her headache peaked. It took all her willpower not to cry out or grab her forehead. She grimaced slightly instead, shutting her eyes but opening them very quickly, as the momentary blackness combined with the pain made her feel dizzy.

'F-for passing n-n-notes in c-class,' clarified Quirrell stuttering more than Evanna had believed it was possible for one person to stutter in a sentence that long.

As soon as Quirrell's attention left her, Evanna chanced a look at Daphne. Daphne's eyes darted from the note in her hand and back to Evanna, and she shrugged. The look on her face clearly showed that she was disturbed by the news but couldn't do anything about it. On Evanna's other side, Tracey had an expression of complete confusion, until Evanna gave her a meaningful stare and tapped her forehead. Comprehension dawned on Tracey's face then, only to be replaced by alarm.

Evanna tried to get back to her work, conscious of the eyes of the rest of the class on her, but her scar made it impossible to concentrate. She compromised by resting her head on her hand while she wrote with her other hand. If she didn't know better, looking at herself she would have thought she was just tired – late night, maybe. It bothered her that Quirrell hadn't asked Daphne to show him the note – surely if he knew Evanna had written one he would know whom she had given it to.

A few minutes before the time was up, Evanna's ballpoint pen ran out of ink and she had to pull out her bag from under her desk to get another one. She had a couple left still, held together with a rubber band, only when she extricated one and put the rest back in her bag, she succeeded in making the bag topple over forwards – and because the zip was gaping, her books and papers spilt all over the floor between Daphne's desk and her own. She cursed silently, and told herself that she would pick everything up as soon as the test was over – not long now.

Once all the sand in the hourglass on Professor Quirrell's desk had run down to the bottom, the time was up and there was a loud scraping of wood against stone as ten chairs were pushed backwards away from their desks. Evanna handed her test in with the others, then headed back to her desk to clean up the mess as the others left.

'Need help?' Tracey asked, lingering at Evanna's desk.

'Nah … it won't take long,' Evanna said, collecting her pens and putting them together in a pile. 'You two go on to lunch; I'll see you there.'

A bit later she was wishing she had accepted Tracey's offer after all. Her things were such a pain to stack up and order properly (as she was, like Hermione, a very organised person), especially the loose rolls and sheets of parchment. Several had folded and gotten crumpled up, and she fixed them as quietly as possible. Her headache was abating; she suspected this was because Quirrell had left the classroom and was in his office. She finished packing her bag and was making to leave when she heard an indistinct conversation coming from behind the door to Quirrell's office, which was shut. Wishing she had her Invisibility Cloak with her, she swung her bag onto her shoulders and tiptoed over to the door. A high, cold voice was filling the room, a voice that gave Evanna chills and sent a jolt of pain through her scar.

'Very good, Quirrell. And the draught?'

'Nearly done, my Lord,' said Quirrell. It was so unlike the voice that Evanna knew that it scared her. There was no trace of a stutter; instead Quirrell sounded very, very different. He was still nervous, but more because of …  _fear_  …

'How much longer?'

'I – it is very difficult to procure all the necessary ingredients, my Lord …'

 _'How much longer?'_  hissed the voice menacingly. It was a horrible voice, one that Evanna was sure she had heard before, when she was under the effects of another draught, the Draught to Induce Hysteria … but that couldn't be possible, could it? 'Answer me!'

'A – a few weeks, my Lord. It will not take long to brew, but it is an exceedingly difficult potion and a single mistake could be fatal.' As soon as the words left Quirrell's mouth, Evanna could tell he regretted saying them … but it was too late now.

What draught? Evanna had the increasingly uncomfortable feeling that she would be in big trouble if Quirrell and whoever else was there discovered she'd been eavesdropping. She edged away, not hearing the mysterious voice berating Quirrell as she backed between the between the rows of desks towards the door. Her foot caught against a chair leg, knocking it over with colossal crash that made Evanna jump. She set the chair up as quickly as she could and turned to open the door, but with a whoosh and a click it locked. Turning round in the direction of the spell, her forehead suddenly alight with pain, she found herself face-to-face with Quirrell.

Her first instinct was to try the locked door again, twisting the knob; however, this was fruitless – it refused to turn. What was that charm Hermione had told them about? Pulling her wand out of her pocket, she pointed it at the handle and shouted,  _'Alohomora!'_  Instead of unlocking the door, the spell rebounded on Evanna, sending her wand flying out of her hand. Aghast and wandless, she (ignoring the sensation of a red-hot poker being laid on her scar) turned to Professor Quirrell, who chuckled mirthlessly.

'Silly girl, you didn't really think that would work, did you?' he taunted, his wand no longer pointing at the doorknob, but at Evanna's face. A jolt of electricity shot through Evanna's scar and Evanna, unable to control it any longer, gasped, her hand jumping to her forehead. 'You don't think I haven't see you and your little friends spending all hours in the library, noses in books? You think I don't know the reason you're standing here right now?'

'N-no,' Evanna stammered, her hand pressed into her scar as she tried to wiggle out from in front of Quirrell's wand. 'I mean "yes", I –' A thought staggered into her head and she started to scream, 'Help!  _Help!_ ' A strange look of panic clouding his features, Quirrell snapped his fingers, silencing her. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out.

'There, that's better, isn't it?' Quirrell said, his eyes surveying Evanna. In spite of the pressure building in her head, a very odd observation occurred to her:  _Quirrell didn't look like a villain._  He didn't act like one, either – he wasn't cold and merciless; in fact, he was almost shaking and was so close to her she could see tiny drops of sweat appearing beneath the purple turban. As if he was reading her mind, he suddenly gripped his wand tighter, and she flinched.

'I'm going to put an end to this business right now, Lily Potter. Because you're too nosy for your own good.' Evanna watched, horrified, as he opened his mouth, preparing to cast what she was sure would be the Killing Curse … Losing her head, she ducked downwards and scarpered between the desks, her vision becoming dotted with black as the tension in her scar reached breaking point. She fell to her knees, panting, so imbibed in the pain that she didn't see Professor Quirrell wave his wand, nor did she hear him as he called to her from the blackness, not casting the spell she expected but another, unfamiliar one:

_'Obliviate!'_


	18. Antepenultimate

_'Obliviate!'_

The spell shot over Evanna's head and she cried out, almost overcome with agony. Worse still, was that she knew what spell Quirrell had tried to hit her with - it was mentioned in  _Magical Theory_. Her heart plummeted, and if it hadn't been for the Silencing Charm placed on her, she would have yelled bravely (albeit childishly), 'You can wipe my memory as much as you like, Quirrell, but one day I'll find out and you'll be sorry!' Never mind the warnings Snape had given her, where was accidental magic when you needed it? She wasn't sure if it was because of the torture in her scar or because of Quirrell's Stunning Spell which he sent her way, but the next moment all sound seemed to evaporate and she fell backwards, backwards, into the blackness ...

* * *

'Oh, there you are,' Tracey said, as Evanna joined them at the Slytherin table for lunch. 'You took quite a while – anything up?'

'No – I'm surprised, actually,' Evanna answered, helping herself to a sandwich. 'Bit bruised, though – must have tripped or something.'

' _Must_  have tripped or something?' Daphne repeated, disbelieving. 'Don't you  _know_  what happened? Did you trip or not?'

'I mean, yes, of course I tripped,' Evanna corrected quickly. 'Sorry, I'm a bit tired today ...'

Tracey and Daphne exchanged looks.

'Cat, are you feeling all right?' Tracey asked in a low voice, frowning.

'Yeah, I'm fine,' Evanna answered noncommittally, unconcerned. 'We've got Flying soon; I'm looking forwards to that.' She didn't notice Daphne whisper something in Tracey's ear. She was thinking ... what had they done when they came back after the Easter holidays? Oh yes ... do research on Quirrell and Snape. Looking back, it all seemed rather silly, their reason for it. It was absurd, really, the idea that somebody at Hogwarts might actually be trying to kill her.

* * *

Hermione joined them after lunch, and they set out for the Quidditch pitch together. Tracey and Daphne lagged behind, talking quietly about who knew what, while Evanna and Hermione walked side by side in a friendly silence. The weather had been getting warmer ever since Easter, and they could see the Quidditch pitch green and appealing (at least to Evanna) on the grounds. She was startled out of her dreamy thoughts when Hermione gasped so dramatically that Evanna stopped in her tracks, concerned.

'What's up?'

'I just realised' – Hermione looked stricken – 'that I never thanked you for saving my life on Hallowe'en.' The guilty look on her face quickly turned to horror. 'And it was all the way back in October -'

'I didn't ...'

'Yes, you definitely saved my life,' Hermione said, cutting Evanna's weak protests short. 'I remember it quite clearly – I  _couldn't_  have moved, even if I had tried. You were the one who kept your head and dragged me out of there – and we weren't even friends then.'

'It seems really weird now,' Evanna said, remembering. 'You were angry at me because you thought I cheated in Potions –'

Hermione blushed. 'All right, I was wrong, and you know it. But you don't know how I felt when I saw you on the floor, not even breathing or anything. I really thought you were dead. I ... I visited you in the hospital wing when – when you were unconscious – it should have been me in that bed. I would have been dead if you hadn't come along. So I just ...' Hermione was turning pinker than ever, but she kept her eyes on Evanna's '... I just want to say thank you.'

'That's OK,' Evanna said hurriedly, feeling more embarrassed by the second. 'But you're forgetting something, Hermione – if it hadn't been for Hallowe'en, we might never have become friends.'

Hermione paused between opening her mouth and actually speaking. 'Yes ... yes ... that's right, and I never realised it.' Her mouth stayed open for a few more seconds before she realised it was agape and shut it quickly.

Luckily, they were nearing the Quidditch pitch at this point, so Evanna didn't have to waste energy trying to think up a reply that wasn't boring or obvious or stupid. Flying went the same as normal, if you took 'normal' to be that Evanna and Draco were the best flyers, Ron, Dudley and Tracey reasonably good and Hermione and Neville notoriously terrible. Hermione did say something odd to Evanna during it, though, which was: 'Nothing out of sorts happened, then? Professor Quirrell didn't do anything to you?'

Evanna stared, taken aback. 'No ... why would he? Relax, Hermione, nothing's going to happen. Nothing  _has_  happened for ages ... what's another month more?'

* * *

Just a few more weeks and the exams were on them. The first-years did all their exams together, so there were about forty eleven- (Evanna, Dudley and Neville) and twelve- (Tracey, Daphne, Hermione and Ron) year-olds all packed into the same swelteringly hot classroom. Not the first time, Evanna wished Hogwarts had Muggle conveniences like electricity – even though, according to Hermione, electricity went haywire around Hogwarts because of all the magic. She wouldn't have minded a nice breeze inside the castle, courtesy of an air-conditioner.

They had double exams (both a written test and a practical one) for every class except History of Magic, so their schedule was quite full. They filed out of the Great Hall every morning along with all the other students except the fifth- and seventh-years, who had to do their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s respectively instead of the usual exams.

Evanna found both the Potions exams comfortably easy, much to her relief. Snape prowled up and down between the aisles, peering over people's shoulders and staring down his long hooked nose at them restlessly. That had been her easiest exam, she remembered – after Flying.

The Flying exam was very simple and straightforwards. They had to do a demonstration of flying on one of the school brooms in front of Madam Hooch, as well as answer questions on the history of broomsticks and flight. Hermione and Evanna were the opposite: Evanna felt she had barely passed the theory, while Hermione much preferred it to the practical aspect. But then again, Hermione wasn't the top of the class for nothing. Daphne had remarked that it was such a shame that Hermione wasn't in Slytherin, because of all the house points she earned for Gryffindor every time she answered a question correctly.

Their last exam was History of Magic, in which they had to spend a very boring time answering questions about the history of self-stirring cauldrons, goblin rebellions and the like. The exams Evanna had been dreading the most was Defence Against the Dark Arts ones, but that was simply because of her headaches – they affected her concentration, even if they didn't notice it.

'Free! We're free!' Tracey sang as they left the History classroom, exhausted but jubilant and with a real sense of accomplishment. 'Nothing more until we get the results back, then it's just the Leaving Feast and we can go home! It's been  _ages_  since we had a feast.'

Evanna didn't remember having one between the Welcoming Feast and now, but she supposed they must have had them for Christmas and Easter. And Hallowe'en ... only she hadn't been there. And she hadn't been there because ...

She halted in her steps for a moment, playing out the possible scenario. Professor Sprout was probably free; it was the last day of the exams, after all. And it was lunchtime, too. Evanna bid the others goodbye quickly and headed for the greenhouses, jogging slightly. Out of everybody, Professor Sprout would be the likeliest to know ...

'Where're you going, Cat?' Tracey said, once Evanna didn't stop at the Slytherin table. 'It's lunch, and we're sitting back there.'

'Er ... just going to see Sprout about something. I won't be long; you don't have to wait or anything.'

She found Professor Sprout in Greenhouse Three, the one that was used by second-years and up because it housed dangerous plants. Professor Sprout – a squat, buxom witch with grey curls and kindly brown eyes – had a pair of large dragon-hide gloves on and was in the process of clipping leaves off a large, intimidating-looking vine that was twisting and writhing menacingly. Evanna cleared her throat nervously, and Professor Sprout started.

'Oh, it's you, Miss Potter,' she said amiably, leaning back slightly to avoid a particularly nasty attempt at a bite from the vine. 'Do stay back further than that – this is a Venomous Tentacula and it  _can_  kill you easily if you get too close. Now, it's the end of the exams and a first-year like you really shouldn't be in Greenhouse Three. Shoo, now, unless you came for something.'

'I wanted to ask you a question because I thought, well, you're the Herbology teacher, so it makes sense you'd understand more than anybody else.'

'Move further back, I say. Yes, that's it. Stay right there, please – no closer. Well, what's your question? Something up in the exams?'

'No – actually, I wanted to ask you about' – Evanna swallowed, considering quickly – 'the Whomping Willow.'

A slight smile played at the edge of Professor Sprout's lips.

'You're like your father there, you are,' she said, deftly freezing the Venomous Tentacula with a well-placed  _'Diffindo'_  and muttering to herself, 'Should have thought of that before.' Turning her attention back to Evanna, she added, 'He couldn't keep away from that tree. Who knows why he was so obsessed with it ... it's a highly dangerous magical plant that'll attack most anything that comes near. You don't be going to see it, now – that'd be asking for trouble and you'd be lucky not to get expelled.'

'But ... is it possible to tame the Whomping Willow?' Seeing the look on Professor Sprout's face, Evanna clarified, 'Not  _tame_ , exactly, but sort of charm – without using a charm, I mean. So that the Willow wouldn't attack you, but ... kind ... of ... welcome ... you ...' She trailed off, realising belatedly how utterly ridiculous her words sounded.

Professor Sprout gave Evanna a very strange, intense stare. 'Yes, it is a possible, though rare, talent.' Her tone of voice had changed; it was no longer light and genial, but sharp and serious. 'What are you saying, Miss Potter? Do you know somebody who can control the Whomping Willow the way you described? Can you?'

Unable to think up a suitable lie, and feeling one would not be much help in this situation, Evanna said, 'I can,' and then added a bit too hastily, 'I'll show you, if you like.'

They trekked over to the Whomping Willow, which shook very slightly as the two of them drew near. Evanna tried to remember what had happened on Hallowe'en. She'd been so very tired ... and the Willow had reached out to her ... or maybe she had subconsciously willed it to, the way she might have willed the doors of the Great Hall to open so she could walk out?

The Willow's branches extended towards her, just like before, and she breathed a sigh of relief. How idiotic she would have looked standing there with Professor Sprout watching her, while the Willow attacked her, maybe. Like a liar, or somebody who was slowly going mad. She climbed into the nest of leaves, and Professor Sprout pulled her wand out from her robes, calling, 'Miss Potter, wait!', but the Willow was already lifting her higher and higher ...

Once she was back on the ground again, and had said 'thank you' to the Willow (softly, so as not to sound like she was crazy), Evanna couldn't resist giving the dumbfounded Professor Sprout a very smug, Slytherin look as if to say, 'See – I  _told_  you so.'

'An interesting gift you've got there, Miss Potter,' Professor Sprout said at last. 'Wouldn't have expected it, myself. It can be hereditary but neither of your parents ever expressed a talent in Herbology. Bit of a disappointment – Head Boy and Girl, they were, in their seventh year! Such a pity ... the good die young ...' She sniffed conspicuously and wiped her face with a grimy handkerchief. 'Thank you for coming, Miss Potter, but I expect it's lunch now and your friends will be waiting for you.'

Evanna didn't answer. She left with a muttered 'goodbye' and a vague lip movement faintly resembling a smile, before setting off back towards the front doors and the Great Hall. People always talked about her like that – told her that she had her mother's eyes (McGonagall), her father's reflexes and gift for flying (Madam Hooch), her mother's knack of Potions (gossip and  _Eight Quills_ ), her grandmother's hair (Aunt Petunia) ... the list went on. It was as if they didn't expect her to have her own features and characteristics at all! It was unbelievable. Her stomach grumbling, she entered the Great Hall, which was as usual crowded and noisy, and spied Tracey, Daphne and Hermione sitting together, with a space saved for her. She'd tell them what Professor Sprout had told her; maybe Hermione would give her a bit more information than Professor Sprout had.


	19. Dungeons and Draughts

It was very easy, as the last few weeks before the End-of-Term Feast passed by, to slip into a lulling complacency. Nothing had happened ... surely nothing  _would_  happen. What could? The memories of the troll on Hallowe'en, even the drugging in November seemed so far away. The end of the exams had signified a blissful period of rest and recovery before the long trip back home at the end of the month. All over the grounds people could be seen clustered in groups, chatting, or letting off some adrenaline flying around the Quidditch pitch. The Slytherins were in a particularly good mood, having won the Quidditch Cup for the seventh year in a row, which also put them in first place for the House Cup. The Gryffindors, who apparently hadn't won the Quidditch Cup since the legendary Charlie Weasley (one of Ron's brothers), and who were traditionally Slytherin's fiercest rivals, were looking noticeably disheartened.

A few days before the end of term, Evanna received a letter. It was rather smudgy and written on coarse parchment with what looked like lumpy ink.

> _Dear Evanna,_
> 
> _I know I haven't seen you around much at all this year, so how about you come down for tea this afternoon? Meant to get to you much sooner but things kept happening and then it must have slipped my mind. I reckon you don't remember but I used to come round and see you when you were a baby maybe you'd like to have a little chat. And don't worry about Fang – he's not as fierce as he looks – great ruddy coward, he is._
> 
> _Hagrid_

Wondering who or what Fang was, Evanna backtracked a bit. So Hagrid used to know her parents ... and for some reason or other, she had known his name as soon as she saw him that evening last September. Maybe she simply had a good memory. Yeah, that sounded right. After all, she remembered her parents ... well, she hadn't before the drugging, but if she remembered people she hadn't seen since before she was two, then it wouldn't be a far cry to suggest that she remembered Hagrid.

Arriving at the door to Hagrid's hut, she knocked and was greeted by a loud barking and the sound of paws frantically tearing at the door.

'Down, Fang. I said,  _down_ , yeh great idiot!' The door opened to reveal Hagrid, who was grasping the neck of a huge black boarhound Evanna could only assume was the aforesaid Fang. This made her instantly glad that she hadn't brought Seraphine, who, being her proud, dignified self, would probably have been less than pleased at such exuberance.

'That's right, make yerself at home,' Hagrid called over his shoulder to Evanna as he shut the door, coming back to sit down at the table.

Evanna decided within a few minutes of talking to him that she liked Hagrid. He was about three times the size of an ordinary man, and had seemed a bit intimidating at first, but they warmed to each other very quickly. He had a lot of thick hair, a great bushy beard and a kindly smile. He had a weakness for creatures, both magical and not ('Care of Magical Creatures was me favourite subject 'fore I got expelled in my third year'), knew a great deal about her parents ('Head Boy and Head Girl in their day!') and seemed particularly amused when Evanna told him the story of how she got the nickname 'Cat'.

'If there's a stranger name than that fer anybody, I've yet ter hear it,' he chuckled. 'Never seen anybody that looked less like a cat, myself.'

When you were talking to Hagrid, it seemed inevitable that you would get onto the subject of creatures, whether or not you had been there before. Some way or another, they ended up talking about unicorns.

'They generally prefer girls ter boys,' Hagrid told her. 'I would take yeh ter the Forbidden Forest, but it's not safe. Someone or summat's been killin' the unicorns.'

Just before Evanna left, they hit the topic of houses.

'Hagrid, you said earlier there wasn't a witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. My parents were both Gryffindors, but I'm a Slytherin ...'

' 'Course I didn't mean yeh,' Hagrid said quickly. 'Yeh only need ter look at the Potters to see that yeh're a good lot. I meant what I said – there wasn't a witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. Doesn' mean everyone in Slytherin's bad – just more likely ter be, in my opinion.' He looked embarrassed.

'But ... do you mind?'

' 'Course not,' Hagrid said bracingly, quashing her doubts. 'There's some'd say all Slytherins're evil, but Dumbledore wouldn' let 'em in ter Hogwarts if they were, now, would he?' His face broke into a cheerful grin and he patted Evanna on the back, almost forcing her headfirst into the table.

Soon afterwards, Evanna left Hagrid's hut amid the howls of Fang (who had taken a liking to her, oddly), feeling a lot happier than she had in a long time.

* * *

Immediately after dinner, Evanna hurried to the library. Madam Pince closed it at eight and curfew for first-years was half-past, so that didn't really give her any breathing space. In an ordinary castle, even one the size of Hogwarts, getting from the library on the fourth floor to the Slytherin dungeon in half an hour wouldn't be too hard, but her journey was made more difficult by the fact that Hogwarts was no ordinary castle it was full of twisting, moving staircases, blind alleys, hidden passages, doors that only opened every other day ... yes, magic did tend to complicate things.

Madam Pince gave her a suspicious look as Evanna hurried in. She'd never treated Evanna, Tracey, Daphne and Hermione the same ever since that day in November when Daphne and Hermione had had a big argument about house-elves and gotten the four of them thrown out of the library, even though Evanna and Tracey were the innocent parties.

Evanna began looking in the Magical Creatures section. Hagrid had told her some stuff about unicorns and she wanted to check them up and find out more.

When it reached what felt like only ten minutes later, Madam Pince shooed her from the library and Evanna started trekking downstairs, her mind busy. Hagrid had said that somebody or something was killing the unicorns, and that it had been taking their blood. According to the book she had read, unicorn blood was very precious, and could save you if you were dying ... though there was some kind of penalty. The book didn't go into the sordid details (something she wasn't sure she wanted to read anyway, judging from the sinister tone used in the book). But who in the world would be stealing unicorn blood?

Evanna was halfway back to the common room and was just passing the right wing of the dungeons when a sudden silent jet of red light flew out from a doorway and knocked her unconscious. For the second time in her life, she had been hit with a Stunning Spell.

* * *

Evanna awoke very suddenly, her scar on fire. Her first instinct was to clap a hand to her forehead, but she found she couldn't move her arms. Twisting in her bonds as far as she could, she could see that she was tied to a set of ancient prison bars. She was in a narrow corridor, the thin bars of another cell opposite her. While thinking about where she could be, it never even occurred to her that she might have left Hogwarts. To her mind, people couldn't escape Hogwarts as easily as that. There was only one place she was sure she could be, and that was the unused section of the dungeons, the right wing that the prefects had warned the first-years about on their very first evening at Hogwarts. She'd never heard why it was unused, and for some reason this frightened her.

The dungeon walls glowed with an eerie green luminescence, like the walls in the Slytherin dungeon. Maybe this portion of the castle was under the lake also? By the unearthly light she saw another set of bars opposite her. Another cell, only this one was open. A shadow was there, a round, black shadow, perched atop a pit of bluebell flames. A curious smell was being emitted from the cauldron, though Evanna had no idea what of. And there was the silhouette of a person, lifting up a ladleful of its contents and pouring them back slowly.

As if sensing her gaze, the figure turned towards her, and she let out a small gasp. Her scar hadn't hurt this much ever since ... well, she couldn't recall just then. The figure straightened ... left the cell and approached Evanna ... she tried to make out features, but it was too dim. And then –

The face of the last person she suspected leered in front of her, purple turban ominously askew.

'Hello,  _Lily_.' The stutter was gone – everything weak and laughable about Quirrell had gone, only to be replaced with a frightening coolness.

'You!' Evanna gasped, trying again to move without it being immediately obvious that she was moving. 'Daphne was right it  _was_  you, after all!'

'Daphne? Isn't she your little half-blood friend? Daughter of a Squib, too ... what a shame. Such a brilliant mind shouldn't go to waste, should it,  _Lily_?'

The repeated use of her real first name was like the sound of fingernails on a blackboard to her ears. 'Don't you dare call me that,' she spat out, furious. 'That was my mother's name. You've got no right to use it.'

'Yet why won't you?' intoned a high, cold voice, ringing in Evanna's head. That voice was eerily familiar ...  _horribly_  familiar – such stuff as nightmares were made of. The voice of –

Quirrell was unwrapping his turban. With the sense that nothing good was going to come of this, Evanna fidgeted while Quirrell's attention was elsewhere. But she got no closer to freeing herself than she had been before. And then the purple cloth slithered to the floor, leaving Quirrell's head looking small and bare. The voice sounded again, and this time Evanna realised whose it was, even as the words echoed in her ears, stronger and louder than before ...

It was the voice of Lord Voldemort.

'Answer me!' hissed Voldemort, as Evanna looked around for the source of the voice. Surely Voldemort couldn't be here ... and why had Quirrell unwrapped his turban?

'You forbid my servant to use your name ... the name with which you were born and which was handed down to you by your worthless Muggle mother? The name which you yourself have cast away in the same way I cast away the name my filthy Muggle father left me? You are even more like me than I had previous thought,  _Lily Potter_  – though it is something I should have foreseen since you do, after all, carry inside you a part of my soul.'

Evanna felt like the ground was falling out from under her. She couldn't speak. Nor could she make a sound when Quirrell revolved slowly until he had the back of his head facing her. Only it wasn't the back of his head, but a grotesque face, with red eyes and slits for nostrils. Lord Voldemort was on the back of Quirrell's head.

 _This can't be happening,_  Evanna thought stupidly, the logical part of her brain trying to make sense of what she saw. Voldemort let out a soft, mirthless cackle.

'Yes, it can be happening, and it is!' he shrieked madly, from the back of Quirrell's head. 'Do not deny it, Lily Potter ... surely you have felt the piece of my soul in you? You're not a true Slytherin – you're only one because of me. Without me, you are nothing.'

'No ...' Evanna croaked. The urge to contradict Voldemort, to prove him wrong, became alight within her. 'I  _am_  a true Slytherin! And I  _can_  survive without you!'

'Have you never wondered what happened that night I killed your parents and gave you that scar?' Voldemort continued, ignoring her for his own story. 'You see, when your dear mother gave up her life for you, throwing her body between the two of us, she acted as a shield. It was ancient magic she invoked; something I should have foreseen. I cast the curse and it rebounded on that shield of  _love_ , breaking the soul in my body and throwing a piece of it into yours.'

'You're lying,' Evanna responded, though she hesitated slightly. 'How would you know I have a bit of your soul inside me? You've been gone for' (she calculated quickly in her head) 'ten years.'

'And back for one! I suspected ever since I began using this body' (Quirrell whimpered) 'that it was true. I gave instructions to Quirrell, my loyal servant, and when you were nearly alone, he cast a spell on you while unseen. It was he who smuggled you the Draught to Induce Hysteria, in my hopes that you would remember what happened and put the clues together.

'I will only be saying this once, Lily Potter,' Voldemort hissed, as her scar burned unrelentingly. 'You are a part of me. Together, we can become stronger again and rid the wizarding world of its curse – the Mudblood curse.'

'My cousin and one of my best friends are Muggle-borns,' Evanna retorted angrily. 'D'you really think I'd join you just like that?'

'My Lord ...' began Quirrell. It was the first time for a while he had spoken, and Evanna was astonished at how weak he sounded.

'QUIET!' snapped Voldemort; and Quirrell recoiled, cowering pathetically. The next moment, the anger was gone, only to be replaced with a deadly, frightening calm. 'Very well, Quirrell ... a goblet.'

With his wand, Quirrell drew a handsome ruby-encrusted goblet out of the air and retreated to the opposite cell. At that point Evanna's scar felt like it had exploded with agony; she wanted desperately to press something cool against it, was begging silently for the pain to stop ... Then it subsided very slightly and Evanna looked up, panting and light-headed, to see Voldemort's face again. Quirrell was holding a steaming goblet of what looked like water, though Evanna sincerely doubted that it was merely  _water_  that had been boiling away in that cauldron. Then Quirrell pointed his wand at her with his free hand.

_'Imperio!'_

Evanna had no strength to resist the curse, could only observe as it grabbed hold of the reins of her mind and steered it into a dead end. Then a distant voice ordered,  _'Drink the potion!'_

Blindly, Evanna felt herself reach out for the goblet that Professor Quirrell pressed into her hands. She could hear somebody laughing mirthlessly, and had the vague idea that drinking the potion was probably not a good idea, but her limbs wouldn't obey her weakly resisting brain and she brought the goblet to her lips and drained the clear potion ...

And then the Imperius Curse lifted and Evanna started to feel her eyes get heavy. But then she pulled herself together. Why had she drunk from that goblet? Professor Quirrell had Voldemort, her parents' killer, on the back of his head. And then the anger was building up again, and she couldn't control it ... never had been able to control it. It was just like the incidents with Peeves and Dudley, only stronger. There was a terrific blast and Professor Quirrell hurtled backwards into the opposite cell, tipping the cauldron and sending potion seeping into the cracks in the floor even as he crashed into the wall beyond.

In an instant Evanna knew why this area of the castle was never used. The wall shook and then collapsed on top of the unconscious Professor Quirrell, just as Evanna felt the ropes holding her give way. Suddenly weak and tired, she fell forwards, collapsing onto the cold, hard floor, a missing memory flooding her mind, images flashing in front of her eyes, faster and faster, even as voices, disconnected from the pictures, echoed in her ears...

_'Very good, Quirrell. And the draught?'_

_'Nearly done, my Lord.'_

_'How much longer?'_

_'I– it is very difficult to procure all the necessary ingredients, my Lord ...'_

_'How much longer? Answer me!'_

_'A a few weeks, my Lord. It will not take long to brew, but it is an exceedingly difficult potion and a single mistake could be fatal.'_

_A pause, in which Evanna stared at the scenes in growing understanding and horror, then ..._

_'Silly girl, you didn't really think that would work, did you? You don't think I haven't see you and your little friends spending all hours in the library, noses in books? You think I don't know the reason you're standing here right now?'_

Her own voice rang, scared but defiant, in the deserted classroom:

 _'N-no ... I mean "yes", I – Help!_ Help! _' But with a snap of his fingers, Quirrell Silenced her and she could no longer speak, only glaring, betrayed and frightened, at her teacher's face._

_'There, that's better, isn't it? I'm going to put an end to this business right now, Lily Potter. Because you're too nosy for your own good.'_

'Obliviate!'

_Pained whimpers, a scrambling as she fruitlessly tried to escape ..._

'Stupefy!'

A jet of red light shot from the end of Quirrell's wand and the memory ended as she lost consciousness ... finding herself on the chilly dungeon floor again ... shivering not only from the cold, but the shock of it all. Quirrell! That  _beast_! He (or rather Voldemort) had Obliviated her! And she had had no idea!

The world was fading around her. The headiness was overwhelming her against her will; the potion was taking full effect. Nobody knew she was here ... she had to  _do_  something ...

She couldn't. The power of the potion was pulling her into a deathlike sleep, and she couldn't stop it.


	20. Greetings and Goodbyes

'So, how did you find me?' asked Evanna, propped up on one elbow in the white hospital-wing bed. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and Dudley had all (some very reluctantly) left, leaving Evanna alone with Tracey, Daphne and Hermione. They were her three closest friends, after all (Dudley was very close, but still ... a  _cousin_ ).

'Daph thought something was up when you didn't come back from the library,' Tracey said, edging closer to the bed. 'I said you'd probably taken a wrong turn, but you didn't show, so we told Professor Snape.'

'He didn't say anything, just rushed right past us,' Daphne said evenly. 'Turns out Quirrell was missing as well. I don't know why, but Snape went straight to the dungeon where you were ... as if he'd suspected something all along.'

Tracey didn't say anything. Her blue eyes were big and scared.

'Maybe he had,' Evanna said, pondering. 'You never can tell with Snape.'

'Cat, get some  _sleep_ ,' Hermione ordered, then when the others stared at her, added hastily, 'All right, I know Professor Quirrell gave you the Draught of Living Death and you basically slept for three days straight, but Madam Pomfrey told me to make sure you didn't exert yourself.'

'Madam Pomfrey's always fussing,' said Daphne dismissively. 'Just don't worry about Quirrell, and you'll be fine.'

It was the wrong thing to say to Evanna, who instantly started thinking about Quirrell. Even after Madam Pomfrey shooed the others out, she couldn't get him out of her head. At least it distracted her mind from certain other worrying thoughts ...

* * *

Quirrell was dead.

That was one of the first things Dumbledore told her later, when he dropped in while she was alone. She didn't think she was supposed to be sorry. Quirrell had carried the broken soul of the man who murdered her parents; he'd indirectly caused her to have blinding headaches several times a week; he'd tampered with her memory, and on top of all that, he'd drugged her with a sleeping potion so strong that it took Madam Pomfrey three days to reverse its effects. All right, so that had mostly been Voldemort influencing Quirrell, but _still_.

Dumbledore put a great deal of stress on the notion that she hadn't really  _killed_  Quirrell - not that she thought she had, anyway. If she couldn't control her magic, then it wasn't really her, and it couldn't possibly be her fault. It was that simple. She was surprised that Dumbledore didn't seem to have realised that.

He did ask a lot of questions, though. And she found herself talking to him as naturally and freely as if she was talking to Dudley, who was probably the person she knew the best, and trusted the most, in the world. Dudley, the affectionate, blunt substitute big brother who would never do anything to hurt her.

And had there been any other times when her magic had got out of control? Dumbledore asked.

She told him - there was the incident with Peeves, and then the one just before Christmas with Dudley. Dumbledore looked intrigued, but merely said that if anything similar happened, she should let Professor Snape or him know.

'Sn- Professor Snape already knows,' said Evanna. 'Professor McGonagall took me to him that time just before Christmas, and ... he gave me double detention.'

Professor Dumbledore chuckled. Then he asked her if there was anything she wanted to ask him. There were so many things she was unsure about: whether or not Aunt Petunia would let her go back to Hogwart in September; the mysterious mirror that showed her family; the reason she could 'tame' the Whomping Willow ... But she decided on another, more pressing issue:

'I know Voldemort killed my parents because he was trying to kill me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?'

Dumbledore sighed. 'Alas, the very first question you ask, I cannot give you the answer. I know you probably hate to hear this, Evanna ... but that is a story for when you are older. And now, if you can excuse my boldness ... may I ask why your friends Miss Davis, Miss Greengrass and Miss Granger and your cousin, Mr Dursley, all refer to you as "Cat"?'

Evanna looked up and saw that Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling.

* * *

But now she was lying awake, all alone, in the hospital wing, and feeling as thoroughly down as if it was Hallowe'en all over again. Feeling extremely sorry for herself, she decided to roll over and give way to selfish -

'Cat.'

Evanna jumped and spun around, towards the voice. A lantern hung in mid-air, suspended by a disembodied hand. A second later, Dudley pulled the Invisibility Cloak off and tossed it at her.

Evanna caught it instinctively, too surprised to say 'hello'. 'How'd you get it? It was in my trunk.'

'I asked Tracey,' Dudley said mildly, before scrutinising her. 'Cat, you look awful.'

'Well, considering I basically just woke up after being asleep for three days because my possessed Defence teacher drugged me with the Draught of Living Death, I think I'm looking positively dapper.'

Dudley grinned, but sobered when he caught sight of her face. 'No, really, you look terrible,' he said candidly. 'What's up?'

Tactless honesty was typical of Dudley, but Evanna was surprised that he had even noticed anything was off at all.

'I bet you anything Aunt Petunia's going to pull me out of Hogwarts,' she said glumly. 'You heard what she said earlier. She was like that at Hallowe'en - you were there; you remember.'

'She's just upset,' Dudley said bracingly. 'Give her some time. We'll work on her during the holidays. Besides, this wasn't as bad as Hallowe'en. This was five days; that was three. And it's not like you were ever going to die this time anyway. The Draught of Living Death doesn't kill. Snape said so.'

Evanna snorted. 'Since when do you pay attention in Potions?'

'I heard him talking to Madam Pomfrey while you were out. And for the record, he's talked about it in Potions before.'

'So ... you  _do_  listen in class? Never thought I'd see the day.'

'Oh, do shut up, Cat.'

Evanna ran her hands through the silvery Cloak on her lap absentmindedly, unable to keep from grinning. The exams were over - Slytherin had won the House Cup - there was no more Quirrell - no more headaches - no more Voldemort ...

Something sent her crashing down to earth with a jolt that could have shattered Aunt Petunia's favourite flowerpots.

She had a piece of Voldemort's soul inside her.

A part of the wizard who killed her parents inside her.

Maybe ... nah. She dismissed the thoughts firmly. She honestly didn't care about that now. Sure, it would crop up sometime, probably during a conversation with Dumbledore, but it could wait. Now -

A distant noise startled them both. Dudley picked up the lantern and held his hand out for the Invisibility Cloak, looking uneasy.

'Guess I'd better go,' he said in a low voice as he took the Cloak from her and put it around his shoulders, leaving just his head visible. 'And don't worry about Mum. She'll come round sooner or later. See you.' With that, he pulled the Cloak up over his head and the floating hand and lantern left, leaving Evanna alone in the dark hospital wing.

* * *

It was approaching evening by the time the Hogwarts Express finally pulled into platform nine-and-three-quarters of King's Cross Station. Evanna, Tracey, Daphne and Hermione collected their things (Seraphine purred contentedly from inside her basket) and joined the line of students leaving the train. Once they were off, blinking and slightly dazed at the noise and bustle of the station, Evanna started looking around for her aunt and uncle. Dudley, Ron and Neville were nowhere to be seen.

'Cat? Daph? Hermione?'

They turned. Tracey had left their small group and joined another that had a short man with glasses and a kindly smile, a woman taller than him (evidently his wife) with soft brown hair and dimples, a boy about eighteen or so and Tracey's cousin Vanessa.

'This is my Uncle Alastair, my Aunt Jillian and my cousin Jack,' Tracey said, gesturing to the man, the woman and the boy in turn. 'Vanessa you've met.'

She introduced them. Vanessa smiled and waved.

'Trace's told us all about you three,' Mr Summers said warmly to Evanna, Daphne and Hermione. 'Greetings, Daphne, lover of Every-Flavour Beans! Good day to you, Hermione, head of every class! And of course the famous Evanna Potter ...'

His eyes strayed inevitably to Evanna's forehead.

'Are you ready to go, dear?' Mrs Summers asked Tracey, who nodded. Hugs were exchanged, along with solemn vows and promises to  _write_ , before the Summers swept Tracey away.

'Er ... I need to go,' Daphne said quietly, glancing around. 'Au revoir, I'll write, catch up with you later and so on. Cheers.' She grabbed her trunk, dragged it onto a trolley and headed off before either of them could say goodbye to her properly.

People jostled Evanna and Hermione, passing around and behind them as they stood there, looking for Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, in Evanna's case, or Hermione's parents, in Hermione's case. Evanna was about to suggest they get some trolleys to put their trunks on so that they didn't have to stay in one spot, when Hermione grabbed her arm.

'Cat! Hermione! Over here!'

Dudley was waving at them from near the platform wall. Also there were Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and an unfamiliar Muggle couple, which turned out to be Hermione's parents. After a series of introductions, (apparently both Hermione's parents were dentists), the two groups turned to go their separate ways.

Evanna hesitated, then turned to Hermione. 'We need to meet up over the summer. I gave you my address; when I get a chance to use Iris we can arrange stuff. Go to the movies, do homework together ...'

Hermione nodded. When Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley began going through the enchanted wall, Evanna lingered, looking behind. The last thing she saw was Hermione's hand raised in farewell before the crowds of people blocked her view and she found herself back in the Muggle world.

**Author's Note:**

> Story title reference: _The Magician's Nephew_ by C. S. Lewis


End file.
